The Violinist
by Lady Awesomepants
Summary: There is a thin line between being a pirate and a murderer...And some have the tragic experiance of crossing it. A now-bad Captain Jack Sparrow acquires a mute violinist on a raid. Bad summary, good fic.
1. Prologue

**Summary**: A now-bad Captain Jack Sparrow acquires a mute violinist on a raid who reminds him of Anamaria. 

**Author's Note**: This is the first fic I ever really thought out, put effort into, and didn't steal bits and pieces of other things to put it together. It's my baby, my pride and joy, and I expect it to be treated as such. No unreasonable flames. If you can defend them intelligently, than by all means do so.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Pirates of the Carribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" or any of its affiliations. (i.e., characters) I would like to own them all very much, but what can you do?

**Claimer**: I own Baby Fischer, Venice, Mariana, and any other unknown characters.

**Update Schedule**: I will try to update every **three to four days**, reviews impending.

**CONTEST**: The **twentieth reviewer** **will recieve a role in the final two chapters**. This reviewer needs to get a character profile to me.

**The Violinist**

**Prologue**

The first night of June that year was a night Captain Jack Sparrow would always remember. It was the night he stopped living the life of a pirate and began to live the life of a murderer.

Many insist that there is no real difference between a pirate and a killer. Most pirates do kill, and ruthlessly, simply because someone is in their way. But the real difference between a pirate and a murderer is that a pirate has passion.

A pirate, no matter how despised or infamous, has a passion, usually for the seas. Their passion is what keeps them sane. It is what keeps them alive.

A murderer, on the other hand, has long lost his passion. It usually dies along with a loved one, and the rage and hatred consumes him, so much that he is trapped in it and he cannot escape no matter how he longs to.

And murderer was what Jack Sparrow was to become.

Jack started awake at the sound of a gunshot, kicking a few of the silk sheets he had picked up on a raid of a merchant trade ship. Instinctively he grabbed the pistol at his bedside but did not get up out of bed. He waited until he heard footsteps thundering down the steps to the below quarters before turning off the safety and aiming at his door. "Come along, then," he said huskily and stared hard at the door. "What've you got for me?"

Almost on cue, Anamaria's heaving figure burst through the doorway. Jack quickly lowered his pistol and the familiar grin graced his features. "'Ello, Ana," he said cheerfully. "What's going on up there, eh? Little Baby, thinking he's a pirate again?"

Anamaria didn't answer, and just stood there, taking deep breaths, as if she were desperate for the air. Jack's grin slowly faded and his eyes traveled to Anamaria's hand, which was grasping a growing red spot on her other sleeve. His brow furled.

"Ana," he said, brushing some dirty hair out of his face as his features grew more concerned, "What's happened, love? What's happened to you?"

Anamaria finally gulped in as much air as she needed and she lifted her sword, which was stained with blood. "Jack, we're under attack," she said. Jack finally noticed that the gunshot that had awoken him to begin with had burst into several other little gunshots mixed among hoarse yells and commands. Jack kicked his legs to the side of his bed and stood up shakily.

"I can infer that we're under attack, Ana," Jack said with a grin, though it was not as self-confident as the other ones he often displayed to the crew in times of grave danger. "But I cannot infer as to whom is attacking us."

Anamaria frowned in disdain and disappointment. "Unfortunately, Sir, it's Commodore Norrington and the Royal Navy. Finally caught up to us, Jack."

Jack suddenly got his balance back and looked at her quite seriously. "Norrington?" he repeated and Anamaria nodded. Jack's face fell into an almost melodramatic confusion. "But…that bloody scum…we had a deal! Not James Norrington, to be sure, Ana?"

Anamaria let out an exasperated sigh and nodded again. "Aye, Captain. _The _Commodore James Norrington. Surely you've heard he's been after us since the marriage of the Turners?"

Jack shook his head in denial. "That's bloody impossible. We had an agreement...a treaty…"

Anamaria brandished her tainted sword at him, an outraged scowl on her face. "An unwritten treaty between a pirate and a Commodore of the Royal Navy?" she said, in an almost mocking tone. "You can't be that naïve, Jack. Norrington wouldn't keep a treaty with you even if he signed with his own blood." Jack almost looked vulnerable and Anamaria immediately felt she had said too much. She smiled a little bit at him as reassurance. "He's blowing holes in the _Pearl_, Jack," she said after a moment, her frown running back to her lips. "She's going to go down if you don't do something quickly."

Jack swaggered over to her, further exhibiting his problem with personal space. "How's your arm, Ana, love?" he asked. Anamaria looked at him as if he were mad.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, were you shot? Or stabbed?"

Anamaria fumed. "Jack, you are going to lose the _Pearl..._"

Jack stopped her in mid-sentence. "Ana," he interrupted. Anamaria shut up, still looking furious. "For the first time in a long time, I'm not concerned about the _Pearl_." He grinned and touched the side of her face and Anamaria flinched, mostly out of not expecting such a show of affection from the captain, especially towards her. Jack lowered his head and brushed his lips softly against hers. It wasn't a kiss, really: just a tease. But it made Anamaria weak in the knees nonetheless. "What I'm more concerned with is _you_."

Anamaria stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, until an all-too-familiar scent reached her nostrils. Her eyebrows knitted to a sharp angle. "Jack…Are you…drunk?" she asked accusingly.

Jack gave a boyish grin and held up two bottles that had surely once been filled with rum, but the empty spaces in them were now audible. "What can I say?" Jack chuckled. "I'm a slave."

Anamaria slapped him and tore away from his grasp. "You are…so…ridiculous, childish…" she started cursing loudly in Spanish and dragged Jack with her to the upper deck.

Once Jack reached the deck, a broad grin broke out across his face. Clearly, Norrington had not been on this little expedition to find Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_. He had very few men and not an impressive amount of firearms. Jack let out a sigh of pleasure as he raised his pistol. "Yo ho, yo ho!" he shouted drunkenly and started firing every which way. The proud men of the Royal Navy fell like snowflakes on a cold day as the pirate crew took them out. Jack stabbed on, shot another, spun about…

And came face-to-face with Commodore Norrington. His face immediately darkened as he raised his sword. "'Ello, Commodore," he said sinisterly. Norrington vaguely acknowledged him.

"Captain Sparrow," he nodded. "I did not quite expect these to be the circumstances in which we would next meet."

"Well, whose fault is it that we're in this predicament?" Jack sneered as he and Norrington began exchanging blows. Norrington easily blocked his slashes with excellent form.

"Technically, it's yours, Mr. Sparrow," he said with a superiority about him that made Jack squirm. "For being a sheer disgrace to society. I would never be after you were you not a pirate."

Jack smirked. "Well then," he said mockingly. "I suppose that's it, eh? I'm pirate, so you're allowed to turn on me whenever you see fit?"

Norrington looked confused as Jack's parries became more violent and his voice more menacing. "I'm not sure I follow you, Mister Sparrow," he said, his eyebrows furling.

"You know bloody well what I mean, Norrington," Jack said. His voice had now reached the tone of a shout, but because of all the ruckus going on around them, he was barely audible. "I trusted you, mate! We had a deal!"

"Mister Sparrow," Norrington said with a superior chuckle, "I would never deal with a pirate. If you can show me this document ensuring our treaty, I shall cease fire immediately. But I recall no such meeting, as I'm sure nor do you."

Jack's eyes flared with rage. "You bloody dog!" he roared and drew his pistol, sending two shots to the Commodore's arm. Norrington looked surprised more than anything as he grunted and staggered backwards. Jack's chest heaved with fury as he reloaded his pistol and aimed it at Norrington's head. "Now, about ceasing that fire..."

But as fate would have it Jack was cut off by a shrill scream of terror. He whirled around, thinking first it was from Anamaria. He glanced about until he saw the source of the shriek. The pirate captain's eyes narrowed and he slashed his way to the helm. When he reached it, he reached down and grabbed the screamer by his short ponytail of fair hair, pulling him up to his feet.

"Baby Fischer, what're you doing on deck?" roared Jack. The eight-year-old cabin boy whimpered a bit, tears streaming down from his bright blue eyes.

"I-I j-just wanted t-t-t-to help, Captain," he sniveled miserably. Jack cocked an eyebrow and released Baby's ponytail, scowling.

"We're under attack, boy," he said sternly, pausing to shoot an oncoming Navy man. "You can't be of any use up here."

Baby wiped his eyes, suddenly ashamed of his tears, and nodded. "Yes, Captain," he shouted obediently. "I was being foolish, sir."

"That you were," Jack said, shooting a few more of the attackers. "Off to your cabin, Baby. Quick now, before they get you."

Baby's eyes widened in fear and he gulped, nodded nervously. Jack let a grin jump to his lips and he ruffled the child's the hair playfully. A smile sprung to Baby's face and Jack chuckled in spite of the situation.

"Get out of here, Baby," he ordered with a playful shove. Baby bounded off, dodging an array of bullets and bodies as he went. Jack sighed. "Some kid," he muttered.

It was at this point that the bullet lodged itself into Jack's left thigh. The blow was unexpected, of course. Even in the heat of battle, people do not expect to be injured. Jack Sparrow was not a god, no matter how often he assured himself he was. He was one of these people who thinks that they shall never be injured in battle.

Jack made no noise at the injury but immediately returned the fire, shooting his opposition in the middle of the forehead. As Jack sunk to his knees, overwhelmed from the pain, he glanced about the deck. Statistically, they were outnumbered, but they were still fighting strong. Or…no…was that Cotton, collapsing? Couldn't be, could it?

Jack suddenly noticed the odds were in the Royal Navy's favor as his crew retreated to the helm. Norrington, who had made a tourniquet around his arm to stop the blood, followed them until they were all cornered behind the still-kneeling Jack. He had no smirk on his face of victory, and for this, Jack felt for a moment grateful towards the Commodore.

"Pirates," Norrington spat and Jack's disdain for him immediately overcame him again. "Crewmen of the _Black Pearl_. I give you one last chance. Surrender and you may be spared from the gallows…though I doubt it, concerning your numerous crimes. However, if you refuse to cooperate, I shall have to have my men kill you here, a dirty business I would rather not prefer." He looked about the crew expectantly. "Well?" the Commodore said impatiently, looking down at Jack. "_Captain_ Sparrow? What say you to that?"

Jack grasped at some planking with a filthy hand and hoisted himself up with some effort, leaning heavily on his right leg. He raised his head slowly and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword. He drew it in a flash and held it up inches from Norrington's throat. With a look more serious than anyone had ever seen he spoke.

"I've a better idea, Commodore," he sneered, brushing some unclean hair away from his deep brown eyes. "You leave without a fuss, or I'll kill you." He shrugged his shoulders in his usual disconcerted manner. "What say you to that? I think it's much less painful."

"You cannot keep this ship, Sparrow," Norrington insisted. "Your men are too few and my men are too many."

"Ah, Commodore," Jack sighed, shaking his head. "My men have something yours do not and could not ever possess."

"Oh?" Norrington said with an arced eyebrow. "And what would that be? Scurvy?"

Jack sneered. "My men have heart, Commodore," he said meaningfully. "As such, they'll fight 'till they die. Ain't that right, lads?"

"Aye, Captain!" the crew shouted. Jack smirked and Norrington smirked right back.

"Ah, but Mister Sparrow, I also have something your men do not possess," he said. Jack's smirk faltered.

"Aye?" he said uncertainly. Norrington nodded and snapped with his good hand.

Kicking and screaming ensued until Anamaria was in view, restrained by two members of the Royal Navy. One was holding her back by the hair and the other had her arms pinned behind her back. The crew stepped forward a bit, but stopped as the Royal Navy raised their bayonets.

"Now that offer, gentlemen…" Norrington started.

Jack glared at him with a loathing deeper than he had ever known. "You bloody coward," he yelled. "Hiding behind a woman. That's lower than I've ever been, Commodore."

Norrington's cool demeanor faltered and rage snapped onto his face in a split second. "How dare you," he said through gritted teeth. "How dare you…"

"Jack!" Anamaria screamed, struggling against the two who had her restrained. "Keep to the code, you bastard! Stab 'im! Shoot him! Make yourself useful!"

"Shut up, Ana!" Jack roared.

"Oh, stop being such a pansy and shoot him!" Anamaria shouted back. "Don't be a fool!"

Jack glared at her. "Anamaria, you're not helping at all," he said through gritted teeth.

"Jack, don't you _dare_ not shoot him on my account," Anamaria hissed. Norrington snapped again and a third military man turned about and pointed a pistol at her chest.

"Bastard," Jack whispered.

"Now, about my offer," Norrington repeated.

Jack's dark eyes darted from Anamaria to the Commodore. Ideas rushed through his head like bullets. He could probably take down the Commodore, but then what of Anamaria? Could he shoot her holders? Did he even have enough bloody bullets?

"We're waiting, _Captain_," Norrington said sinisterly and Jack hated him again.

"Never," he sneered. "We are pirates, through and through. Hate us for it if you must, but we'll never surrender ourselves to the gallows."

"Aye, aye!" the crew shouted in reply. Loudest of all was Anamaria.

The Commodore sighed and bowed his head. "Very well," he said. "It grieves me to kill a lady, Mister Sparrow. Be sure, it grieves me greater than you know. But it is my duty." He looked straight into Jack's eyes. "And we all have our duties, do we not?"

He raised his arm to give the signal to shoot Anamaria, but before he could, in a quick, violent motion, Jack thrust his sword through the Commodore's palm. This time Norrington did scream, loudly, and Jack faltered at the noise.

Chaos broke out once again and the two crews rushed at each other. Jack yanked his sword out of Norrington's useless hand and looked about. He grabbed him by the collar and whistled loudly as he flipped up his blade and started padding around the Commodore, giving him time to collect himself.

"An eye for an eye, eh, Norrington?" he said huskily. The Commodore was breathing heavily, and grimacing from the pain. The blood flowed freely from his hand, and his tourniquet could not do anything for it.

Norrington spat onto the ground and rose to his feet, pulling his sword out of its sheathe as he did. "Are these going to be the terms in which we shall die, Mister Sparrow?" he said nonchalantly in spite of his injury. "On your own ship over an act of stubbornness?"

"I've lost whatever respect for you I once had, Commodore," Jack said through gritted teeth, still pacing around the injured Norrington. His leg was beginning to lose feeling in it, so it didn't bother him as much as if had before. "You threatened to kill a lady. That is worse than any piracy that has ever been committed on land or sea. And may you be damned for such an act."

"Mister Sparrow, you hypocrite," Norrington spat, exchanging a few parries with Jack. "When you first arrived at Port Royal I do believe you tried to murder Miss Swann, er, Mrs. Turner."

Jack grinned. "Oh, but sir," he said slyly. "I had previously saved the dame's life. The two neutralize each other, you see. I am guilty for no real crime."

By this point everyone had ceased fire and was staring at the two commanding officers on the helm. Their blows to one another were growing more and more violent, and it was as if they were performing a hypnotic dance. Their fighting continued for several moments, and neither landed a blow upon the other.

For a split second Norrington let his guard down and Jack saw his chance. He slugged the Commodore in the face and Norrington staggered backwards until he collapsed against the wheel. Both commanding officers were breathing heavily. Norrington wiped blood away from his mouth as Jack pulled his pesky long hair out of his face. It stayed back this time, slicked with sweat. Jack held up his sword but made no move forward.

"Last chance, Norrington," he said. Despite his ragged appearance, the pirate's voice did not quaver at all. In fact, he seemed to be extremely composed. Norrington looked up, his wig askew on his head. He looked a tragic figure, spread across the steering wheel, seemingly defeated.

"Last chance for what, Captain Sparrow?" he asked, taking odd pauses in his speaking as he sucked in deep breaths of air.

Jack knew he was being foolish for offering Norrington another chance for peace, but it was the humanity inside him that drove him to do so. "I am giving you one last chance to get off my boat," he said, the odd seriousness in his voice seeping from every syllable. "Get off, take your men, and sail away. Tell whomever you like about our whereabouts, I care not for that. But get off of my ship, Norrington."

Norrington's labored breath slowed down a bit as he begin to regain his strength. He searched the crowd of shipmen standing about, watching the two of them. The odds were in his favor if you thought of numbers, but there was something about this ship that made Norrington sure he could not win this battle.

"Don't be a fool, James," Jack said seriously. "It's not worth your death. Not my life."

Commodore James Norrington looked into his opposition's eyes and saw the serious manner there. He let out a sigh and reached into his coat. "No, Captain Sparrow," he said tiredly. "My death is not worth your life."

"We have an accord then?" the pirate asked suspiciously. Norrington nodded reluctantly. Jack slowly lowered his sword. The second he did Norrington whipped out a pistol and Jack felt himself freeze. A tremor or anger ran through his whole body, shaking his every limb. _Idiot_, he yelled at himself. _Bloody idiot_.

"This is my accord," Norrington sneered. "That your life is not worth my death. So I myself shall refrain from dying. And since you seem to care not for the life of yourself, perhaps you shall care for the life of another."

Jack gripped the hilt of his sword, confused. Norrington smirked and turned to the crowd of crewmen standing aboard the deck of the _Pearl_. Jack suddenly realized who Norrington was aiming at and his eyes grew wide. "Ana!" he cried out, but by the time he had the bullet had been launched.

Anamaria did not even have time to turn before it hit her in the center of her forehead.

Her eyes went wide for a moment, and her jaw fell loose, making her mouth a tall O. Her blood splattered onto the men on deck, and not one of them did not cringe. Anamaria's body seemed to fall in slow motion and it hit the deck with a thud. Jack felt his heart fall with it as the men attacked once more, screaming their hatred as they killed one another without regret.

Jack stared at Anamaria's fallen body for a very long time until he heard the click of a pistol. He looked up and saw that Norrington had his gun pointed at the center of Jack's chest. "Again, my deepest sympathies, Mister Sparrow," the Commodore said. "I have a duty to my country."

Jack whipped out his sword and took a step towards Norrington. The Commodore shot off his gun and it went straight into Jack's chest. The pirate faltered for a bit but then looked up. The look upon Norrington's face at this cannot be described by words, because no word covers the expression he bore at the recovery of Captain Sparrow.

In a swift motion, Jack lunged forward, his blade held out in front of him. Jack plunged his sword into Norrington's gut and the Commodore collapsed onto him. He made a noise similar to that of a child after he has skinned his knee: that faint little squeal of pain, but the child does not want to show that he is truly hurt so he does not cry out. Jack pushed the blade further into his opposition until it penetrated through the entire body. Jack lifted his mouth to Norrington's ear and whispered hotly.

"I don't know what you were aiming at, mate," he hissed. "My heart is long gone by now."

With that Norrington died, surprisingly quickly. Jack did not even bother to withdraw his sword from the Commodore's body. Clutching his chest he made his way through the violent gaggle of military men and pirates until he found the body of Anamaria, strewn across the deck. He collapsed to his knees beside her, feeling tears spring to his eyes. He blinked them away and touched the side of her face.

"Oh, Anamaria," he whispered. "I didn't even get the chance to tell you that I…loved you." And with those words he felt unconsciousness take a hold of him and the dark veil of prolonged sleep fell over his brown eyes.

And miles away, on an island just south of the coastline of Madrid, a child was born.

The parents of this child were peasants, and as such had no doctor to deliver her. The baby's mother died in birth, but the moment the baby was born, she did not wail. Not a sound came from her lips, though she seemed to be as healthy as any baby ever born had been.

Her father called her Mariana, the baby who would not cry.

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**  
Closing Notes**: Yeah...there is a point to Mariana's birth, duh. Read and review, constructive criticism is more than welcome, as are suggestions. Thanks! 


	2. The Red Violin

**Author's Note: **Oh, dear, this is a tad late. I am sorry to whomever read this. Oh, bother, only one review thusfar. Oh, well, I don't mind much. Thanks to Maya Bebop for boosting my ego. Tell your friends, dear, and thanks for the compliments.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own POTC or any of its affiliations. Tear, tear

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**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter One - The Red Violin**

The girl was beautiful the moment she was born, but she quickly blossomed into even more beauty. The village people were impressed with her mannerisms and her looks. Mariana, the baby who would not cry, was a quirky character, always happy and eager to help whomever desired it.

But the village people were most impressed with her father, a man who had overcome the death of his wife to raise this beautiful girl. But there was something very special about this girl, something that was very rare in the day. She was a mute: she could not speak a word. Her father had taught her to understand Spanish, English, French and Italian, but she could not utter a word of any of them.

The father was a violinist, and he made and sold violins. He tutored children of village whose parents were sure that they were prodigies and would one day play for the King himself. But the father knew that these children did not possess the gift that his own daughter possessed.

Mariana had started playing the violin when she was four. Now at age seven, she was a genius with a violin. She could make it sing angry, sharp chords, or sad, sweet melodies. She used violins of her father's, and made them all sing sweeter than her father ever could have imagined.

Mariana was more talented than most children or adults in the world, and she knew that beyond a doubt. She did not brag about such a thing, but she knew her gift was deeper than most people would ever know. But Mariana wanted something more, and though she could not tell her father what, he knew. She wanted a violin of her own, a special violin. Something...one of a kind.

The father had a small ship, for fishing when they were short on money. He often visited the port as a result, to check up on the upkeep of his ship. A merchant vessel docked there one afternoon, and there was a man upon the ship who had the exact violin the father was looking for to give to Mariana.

It was beautiful, though not structured differently than any violin he had ever seen. The only thing really unique about it was that it was a deep, rich red, a color he had never seen before or at least could not recognize. He did not even play it to make sure it was intact. He saw it and knew it was meant to be for Mariana.

"Sir?" the owner of the violin asked in Italian. His skin was mahogany and his hair was curled in close to his skull, and the father guessed he hailed from Africa. "Can I be of any assistance?"

The father swallowed and managed to close his jaw as he pointed at the violin. "This. How much is this?"

The owner glanced at it and shrugged. "I've had that thing for years. I'm willing to trade, even. Why do you want it, Sir?"

"My daughter is a violinist," he answered with a few meaningless nods. "She wants her own violin more than anything."

The owner frowned. "How young is the daughter?" he asked.

"Just seven years," Mariana's father said.

The owner's frown deepened. "Sir, I must protest," he argued. "This violin is much too large for a little girl. Perhaps a smaller make…?"

"I'm sure she can handle this one," the father insisted. "She is a _maestro_. Now, good sir, how much do I owe you?"

He bought it and brought it home, but by the time he had Mariana was already fast asleep. He held back his eagerness and waited until morning.

When Mariana awoke, as she always did, earlier than her father or the servants in their home, she made her bed with extra care. Her father had come home late the previous night, and she wanted everything to be in perfect order so as to not provoke a disturbance in the household. As she tiptoed to her kitchen, Mariana found something very peculiar, something in all her years alive she had not seen.

Her father was awake, a package in his lap, sitting at their table and sipping on coffee. He smiled as she stared at him.

"Can you understand me, Mariana?" he asked in English. She nodded. "Good, good. Good morning, my dear."

Mariana smiled and gave a nod in response. She walked to her father and sat in the chair opposite of him.

Her father smiled back and took another sip of his coffee. "Sleep well, I suppose?" Mariana nodded yes. "Good, good. I have here a gift for you."

He handed the package to Mariana and she looked up at him. She pointed to herself and arced an eyebrow. Her father smiled and nodded and Mariana looked back at the package. She carefully tore away the wrapping encasing it and pulled out the red violin, her eyes growing wide.

"It is not one of mine," he admitted as Mariana stroked the hard wood, gazing on in open-mouthed silence. "But I saw it and I thought of you. The merchant said it was too large for so small a girl, but I'm sure you'll manage. It is for you, Mariana. Your very own violin."

Mariana looked up again, setting the violin aside onto the table. Her deep brown eyes stared at it, transfixed. Mariana was puzzling over the color of it, though anyone who saw her expression would think she were simply overwhelmed by the gift. Her father cleared his throat and her eyes darted upwards, apologizing for dazing off. The father silently forgave her in a manner only they both understood.

"Of course, as this is your first violin, I should expect you will take extremely good care of it." He paused and looked at his daughter wisely. Mariana nodded in agreement, excitement seeping from her every action. "Never let it be broken, _mio caro_," he insisted.

Mariana nodded again, quicker than before. It was at times like these she wished she could speak. There was no way silence could express her gratitude. Her father nodded to her.

"I should very much like to hear you play it," he said, switching from English to Spanish. Mariana paused and looked at the red violin sitting on the table. Her father touched her arm. "Don't be afraid to play, my dear," he insisted. "Never be afraid to play."

Mariana slowly nodded and picked up the violin. She walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. With great care she lifted a bow from the blue velvet encasing of the drawer and settled the violin to her shoulder.

Pen cannot describe the noise that came from that violin following the first vibration of the string, so I shall not try to describe it. It would come off as a jumble of words meaning nothing, and there are no words in the languages of all the world for this music. Just know that when Mariana finished playing, they were both happier people.

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**Closing Notes: **BACKGROUND INFO! Woohoo. Review, will you, dears? 


	3. After the Hit

**Author's Note: **Since I was late in updating, I'll post two chapters in one day. God, I'm so nice sometimes.

**Disclaimer: **Roses are red, violets are blue, me no own so you no sue.

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**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Two - After the Hit**

"Sir? Captain Sparrow?"

Jack slowly lifted his head from his pillow and wiped away the drool that had accumulated at the corners of his mouth. His dark hair, still as dirty and messy but now chopped into a short ponytail, caged his fierce eyes as he looked up. The man...or, I shan't say man. Baby Fischer was no older than twenty-five now, but still acted like a child when Jack would allow it. And with his innocent expression, he looked more like a teenager than anything else. He was toe-headed and had big blue eyes, and if he had not been a pirate, a person would have thought him the sweetest boy they'd met.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" Jack Sparrow growled, grinding his back molars together. Baby heard gold against gold and winced a bit.

"I'd just come to tell you, Captain," Baby said cautiously, "that we'll soon be arriving at the port you wished to stop at."

Jack spat onto the ground. "Why're you so jumpy, Baby?" he said. One might think he was trying to sound caring, but there was sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Baby swallowed.

"It's just the...no, Sir, it's nothing," Baby caught himself and bit his tongue. _A whole lot of good that'll do you, Baby Fischer,_ he thought to himself. _Tell the Captain you're scared of an old-wives tale. The Madrid being full of sirens...what nonsense._

"Then you've no right to be jumpy," Jack snarled.

Baby blinked. "Yes, Captain," he said, not once looking directly at the pirate captain. Jack snorted in distaste.

"Puppy dog, as ever," he commented with a sneer. "Fine. When will we get there, do you reckon, Baby?"

Baby jammed his hands deep into his pockets as to hide his fidgeting hands. Jack had gotten this strange habit of hating whenever anyone twitched. And Baby, having a nervous tick himself, often got the worst of Jack's anger when the problem arose.

"I said, when will we get there?" Jack asked loudly.

"About an hour, Sir," Baby answered quickly.

"Well, now, Baby," Jack cooed mockingly. "That's not near at all, is it?"

Baby looked up from his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. He blinked his big blue eyes at the captain.

"I said..."

"I heard you, Captain," Baby interrupted. In a second he wished he hadn't. Jack drew his pistol from his lap and aimed it at the former cabin-boy's head.

"Excuse me?" Jack said dangerously. "Did you just interrupt me while I was speaking, Baby Fischer? I do believe you did."

Baby looked back down and noticed that his socks were different lengths. "Yes, I did, Captain," he admitted. His shoes weren't the same make, either…

"And do you ever interrupt me?"

"No, Captain," Baby answered. He knew the Jack wouldn't shoot him for something this simple. But a nagging thought in the back of his mind reminded him of when Jack had shot the newest member of the _Black Pearl_, a fifteen-year-old boy named Venice, for whining of sea-sickness. Of course, Venice had recovered, but not without scars and pain, and a permanent hatred from Jack.

Jack stowed away his pistol and nodded. "There's a good lad. Now get up and help the crew, before I shoot you," he threatened casually. Baby nodded and nervously made his way out of the Captain's quarters. "Bloody blithering idiot," Jack mumbled, pushing some hair out of his eyes. Once upon a time, they had been lively and full of a passion, but if one looked into them now one would see only despair and hatred. He lacked compassion--Jack Sparrow was now a true pirate. No, he was worse than that: he was a killer.

Jack did not sleep for the next hour, but no one went to his quarters, anyway. It was at times like these, when he was in a fouler mood than usual, that the crew knew to stay away from him and do exactly what they were told without a fuss. Jack had grown cruel and uncaring, and if they questioned his judgment for a second they would surely be shot.

One such unlucky young man was Venice, the cabin boy. He was tall and lanky, only fifteen, with a mop of curly brown hair and deep, honey-colored eyes. The boy had been just five years old when Jack had raided his town and kidnapped him. Maybe it was because he had been taken to the _Pearl_ not out of his own free will that he detested being there so. Venice was an unwilling pirate if ever there was one.

The only person who could really identify with him was Baby, who remembered clearest of all what Jack used to be like. It was because of his memories Baby did not detest being on the _Pearl_ himself. As Baby emerged from below deck, Venice was scrubbing a handle of the ship, muttering meaningless phrases to himself. Baby patted him on the back and sat down, and Venice looked up.

"You alright, mate?" he asked curiously. Baby let out a sigh and slowly nodded.

"I suppose," he answered, pushing his blonde bangs behind his ears, one of which held a large golden hoop earring. "He's being a stubborn ass, as usual."

Venice chuckled to himself, resuming scrubbing the railing. "Well, what did you expect, Baby?" he asked, shaking his head. "You expect him to turn round and be nice all of a sudden?"

"Come off it, Venice," Baby snapped. "I've told you thousands of times the Captain wasn't always like this. He had heart once."

"Doesn't matter what he had, though, does it?" Venice said, scrubbing harder as rage started leaking into his voice. "All that matters is that he's a mangy git now, doesn't it? A scum. He ain't got no heart anymore, Baby, and that's all that matters."

"Maybe," Baby admitted. "I doubt it, but maybe."

"Oy, the two of you!" a shipmate roared. "You'd best be stopping talking badly about the Captain. Be a shame if he heard you, now wouldn't it?"

Venice ignored their warning. "He'd never hurt you, Baby," he insisted. "He likes you too much. He'd never shoot you."

"Says you," Baby said in a mocking tone. "He cares for no one. Not me, not any of the old crew...not even himself, Venice."

At these words, Venice faltered and his face fell. He yanked his gaze away from Baby and started scrubbing the rail again. It was cleaner than it had ever been, but in his raging emotions Venice hadn't thought to move.

"It's a bit tragic, isn't it?" Baby said softly after a long silence. Venice didn't look up when he answered his friend.

"What is?" he asked back.

Baby sighed and wrapped a bandana around his head, getting to his feet. He glanced over at Venice. "It's tragic that he has nothing left," he said quietly. "Doesn't even care for his own well being." He met the dark eyes of his companion. "Let us promise to never become like that, my friend," Baby proposed.

Venice nodded. "A promise, mate," he answered with a smile. "We're pirates, for God's sakes. We'll never be selfless."

Baby grinned and made his way to the helm to guide the ship the rest of the way until they reached the port of their liking. Jack had set up that the crew would raid a group of islands south of Madrid. They were in a perfect slanted line, and not extremely far apart. Baby sighed as he grasped the wheel.

"Never selfless," he reassured himself as he turned the wheel two ticks to the right. "Never selfless."

When the _Black Pearl_ reached the port of the small island, Jack was finally awake. He didn't bother to redo his ponytail, which was a mess from sleeping on it. He plopped his trademark tri-corner hat onto his head. Jack made sure he had plenty of weapons and ammo before putting on his dusty trench coat and walking onto the deck.

At first, the light blinded him, but he quickly became used to his surroundings. It was only when he did he noticed it was nearing sunset and that the light in the sky was very little, only a bright red splash across the canvas of the heavens. He leaped up onto the rail and shot his pistol into the air. Immediately after the entire crew jumped up and did a three-sixty so that they were all facing their captain. Jack cleared his throat.

"First raid in three weeks, boys," he declared.

"Four, Captain," a foolish crewman said loudly. In an instant Jack found his chest and pulled the trigger of his pistol, shooting the corrector straight in the chest. Only those around the unfortunate man gasped--the others were used to the routine.

"Now," Jack continued. "If I can go another mere word without being interrupted, I shall continue. You know our policy, boys: eat your fill, take what women you wish, but be done with them before you come back onto the ship. Oh, and of course, take no prisoners."

"Aye aye, Captain!" the crew shouted in unison. Jack nodded.

"Reek havoc, you scalawags," he ordered without a grin. For Captain Jack Sparrow no longer had anything to grin about.

I shall not describe the events that followed, for having known what the great Jack Sparrow was once like and knowing what he had become, I have not the heart to tell the exact things that he did that night in all their gruesome reality. Just know what is needed to know: the men were killed, the women raped, and the children, like their once great attacker Jack Sparrow, were left with nothing.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **Bwahaha. You thought I'd killed off Jack, didn't you? I'm so tricky. Review, my ducklings, if you'll be so kind.


	4. The Rio Madrid

**Author's Note: **Special quick thanks to all my reviewers. You guys inspire me, you really do. Thanks all for the lovely rave reviews!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. It's awfully sad, actually, if you really pause to think about it. Tragic, really.

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Three - The Rio Madrid**

Despite the fact that the raid had been extremely successful and that he had made love with enough women that one night to last an entire lifetime, Jack Sparrow was, as usual, angry. No one dared venture into his cabin, not even Baby Fischer. They were terrified that the instant they did they would be shot.

What they should have known, though, was that although Jack was constantly in a bad mood and ready to kill someone, he would only do so if provoked. He did not believe he killed for no reason. In Jack's own mind, the people that he murdered had it coming to them the moment they would interrupt him or correct him or dare stand in his way.

Jack put a bandana round his head to keep his hair from spilling into his eyes. He had cut it shortly after her death, perhaps in an act of mourning, or an act of temporary insanity. His beard still remained in its little braids and his dark eyes rimmed with kohl, but people knew something inside the pirate had changed the moment they saw him. Jack hated them for it--that they could see inside him so easily.

"What kind of a man am I?" he hissed to himself. His mind answered him mockingly.

_Man?_ it answered. _You are no man, Jack._

"What am I, then?" Jack asked aloud. "A codfish, I suppose?"

The voice inside his mind laughed, a laugh that seemed strangely unfamiliar.

_You are nothing, Jack._

Jack slammed his fist into his desk he was seated at. "Bullocks," he spat. The voice just laughed, and with a quick pang of fear Jack realized that it wasn't going away. He leaped to his feet and grabbed his pistol from his bedside table, holding it to his own head. "I'll blow you out of my head, mate," he threatened.

_Go ahead, **Captain**,_ the voice sneered. _You haven't the courage._

Jack stood there for a good while, a pistol pressed against his temple. He considered his options. Die, and make it go away? Or live, and prove it right?

Jack let out a roar and slammed his hands onto his table. The voice's laugh had dulled to a snicker.

"Go to hell," Jack snarled simply, tossing the pistol to his feet. He kicked his bedpost like a child. "I am not nothing," he muttered, pacing about his cabin. "I'm Jack Sparrow, you hear? I'm not nothing."

He slammed his fist into his wall. "I'm not nothing," he grumbled before returning to his seat and rubbing his fingers to his temple to make the voice disappear.

* * *

When they reached the next island, Jack gave the same less-than-motivating pep talk before he sent them out to pillage and plunder. The crew let out all their savage mannerisms as they were given their final instructions from their captain.

"Take no prisoners."

At these words they all gave a giant roar and stampeded into the village. Some stayed upon the _Pearl_, firing cannons here and there. The entire crew seemed to fall victim to barbarity as they ran out into the village that had fallen victim to a raid.

All except for a young man named Baby Fischer and his teenage companion, a boy called Venice, named after the city in which his mother had always wanted to have her wedding.

The two strode casually through the chaos, avoiding as much confrontation as they possibly could. While other crewmen were raping women or stealing valuables, the youngest men aboard the _Pearl_ were talking casually, as if their surroundings weren't real to them. In truth, the two had gotten used to the horrible scene the _Black Pearl_ created on raids.

"Do you reckon he's about?" Venice asked quietly. It took Baby quite a long while before he realized who the younger boy was speaking about.

"Jack?" he verified.

Venice nodded, his honey-brown eyes darting about despite his confident stride. Those eyes were the color of his mother's. His father had been blessed with darker eyes that had protected him from the harmful, screaming rays of the sunlight. His mother had often called those eyessmoldering, though Venice had not understood why until they were both years dead.

"I suppose so. We've been out here for nearly an hour, haven't we?" Baby was twirling a golden ring he had stolen in his right hand, the metal cold and unwelcoming to his touch.

Venice sighed. "It seems like such a longer time to me, Baby," he confided. His brown eyes met with Baby's blue, and the older could see a pleading look there. "I need to get out of this, mate," he hissed. "Out of the pirate life and far, far away from the _Pearl_."

Baby looked at him quizzically. "What the hell are you talking about, you blithering moron?" he accused. "Jack would kill you if you tried to sneak off."

"He wouldn't be able to find me."

"Yes, he would, Venice." Baby said this with such superiority that Venice snapped at him next, though not intentionally. For you see, Baby was the closest friend Venice had ever had in his entire life. He was terrified of losing that friendship, and tried to catch himself whenever he fell angry at him. But in this case, Venice was so full of desperation he could not catch himself.

"He wouldn't even care enough to search for me." He almost bit his tongue for being so outspoken as Baby shot him an icy glare.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked coolly.

Venice sighed. "Come on, Baby," he persisted. "You said it yourself--he don't care about nobody. Especially not me. He hates me--"

"He don't hate you, you idiot," Baby snarled.

"He does, and you know it," Venice hissed. He sighed andregained his composure, sliding his arm around Baby's shoulder in a brotherly embrace. "Look, I haven't the heart for this, mate," he confessed. Baby's harsh expression softened and Venice gave a sad little smile. "I can't serve under a man like Jack, Baby."

Baby blinked. "You know he's not all bad, Venice…" he began, but his friend cut him off.

"He killed my parents, Baby," he said sharply. "When I was just a kid, mate. Just five years old. You remember?"

Baby sighed. "Aye, I remember," he said reverently. It was a rather painful memory he rather cared to not relive. "But Venice, for God's sake, he had a wave of insanity there! He doesn't even remember doing it. Doesn't even know they're _dead_."

But the other boy would have none of it. "_And_ he nearly killed me," Venice continued. "It's a miracle he hasn't." Venice looked into Baby's eyes pleadingly. "I need your help in getting out, mate."

Baby's eyes iced over. "You mean you need for me not to squeal," he said, almost accusingly. "I'm not a rat, Venice. You should know that by now."

Venice shook his head. "I want you to come with me," he added. Baby's icy expression faltered and he draw away from Venice's grasp.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" he hissed, completely confused.

"Come off it, Baby," Venice insisted. "You know neither of us is cut out for this life. We're both still young--let's get out of it as quickly as we can, while we still have our chance."

Baby stared at him and said nothing for a very long time.

Cannon shots and gunfire sounded all about them.

Women's screams tore through the air.

Baby finally cleared his throat. "You can leave if you wish, Venice," he said deliberately. "You leave and I swear upon my mother I shall never tell a soul. But I cannot come with you, my friend."

Venice's face fell. "Why the bloody hell not?" he nearly shouted.

Baby sighed again. "I can't leave him, mate," he admitted. "I still remember the way he was. Before he became...whatever the hell he is now. And I can't leave him. I can't leave him alone. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

Venice stared, open-mouthed. "I absolutely do NOT understand," he started, but Baby cut him off in mid-sentence.

"D'you hear that?" Baby asked softly.

"Hear what?" Venice said impatiently, not understanding what Baby was being so stubborn about. As he looked about, he realized that the fighting was far behind them. They were nearing the beach, where only a few houses remained.

Baby hushed him and strained his ears. "It's a violin," he said softly. The music ensnared him and he bolted forwards, catching Venice off guard as he followed the noise.

"Where the hell are you going?" Venice roared.

Baby wouldn't hear him--he was honed in on finding the source of the music. Something in it was drawing him to it, luring him, reeling him in and making his head spin…

He finally found the source.

A run-down old barnyard had its doors open, inviting any pirate to just waltz in and take what they wanted. But if a pirate had come, he would never have found anything of value.

You see, pirates as a whole are materialistic. This, of course, is no secret, but the extent of their attachment to things is never described quite vividly enough. A pirate does not take in the beauty of a sunset or theatre.

Baby Fischer, however, was no ordinary pirate, and inside the barn he saw two things of extreme value.

Venice came running so quickly that he could not stop himself from colliding into Baby like in a two-man comedy act. The music immediately stopped as the two rolled to the ground and then back at their feet, brandishing their pistols.

In the barn was an old man sitting in a rocking chair at the far corner. He was over sixty, a remarkable age for a man of his fragile state of health. No one quite knew how he had survived so long. But most said it was because of the music his daughter made when she played her red violin.

Standing in the center of the barn was a girl. She was dirty and damp, obviously a peasant. Her skin was tan, and her eyes and hair were dark. From her hand dangled a blood-red violin and a bow. Baby pointed his pistol at the old man.

"Was it this girl making the music I just heard?" he asked in a rather demanding tone. The old man was shaking with fear.

Venice clicked the safety off of his pistol. "Yes or no, old man?" he snarled. The old man let out an odd sort of cry and shakily got to his feet. His robe was torn in several places and the linen shirt and trousers he wore underneathe were worn to a bare thread.

"_Si_," he answered, his voice quivering. "Sirs, that was my girl. She is my daughter." He paused and stepped forward. "Please, we have nothing to give."

Baby blinked from the man to the girl. Anger was seeping through her eyes, and though she was not speaking to him, Baby could tell she had already built a hatred for him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Venice asked the girl, his pirating instincts kicking in as his voice gained more malice. "There's a raid going on. Can't you hear, love?"

The girl still said nothing. Her father grasped her shoulder and held out his hand pleadingly. "Please, sirs," he pleaded. "We are but poor country folk. Surely you will not harm us, sirs?"

"I asked her a question," Venice said loudly.

The father glanced at his daughter and cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sirs, but she is a mute," he confessed. As Venice and Baby exchanged glances, the old beggar continued. "Please, sirs. I am old and weary. Surely you won't bother an old man?"

Baby licked his lips and swallowed a lump that had been building in his throat. "Make her play her violin," he instructed to the old man.

The elder blinked several times before nodding. He whispered something in Spanish in his daughter's ear and her eyes grew wide. She violently shook her head "no," but her father grasped her arm tightly.

"Mariana," he snapped and she immediately stopped moving. She reluctantly nodded and placed her violin to her chin. Before shooting the two pirates standing in the doorway the iciest of glares, she struck her first note.

As she played, the two young men found themselves completely and utterly entranced. There was something about the song she was playing…Or, no, it wasn't the song, it was the violin…Or, wait, maybe it was the girl herself…Neither had a single coherent thought to speak of.

And then, quickly, the song ended, far too abruptly.

Venice looked at the girl and her hands were clenched at her sides. "I suppose she doesn't like us, then?" he commented with a casual smirk. The father put his hands on his daughter's shoulders.

"Your crew is raiding our village," he said, stating the obvious. "My daughter and I are just peasants. We have nothing to offer you. Please, I beg of you to leave--"

"Your daughter is very talented," Baby remarked, ignoring his pleadings.

The old man faltered a bit before nodding. "_Gracias_, sirs."

Baby looked deep into the girl's eyes and started. She looked so uncannily familiar…but where could he have seen her before?

_Nowhere, that's where_.

Baby shook his head to clear his mind. "I request your daughter in exchange for the safety of your lives," he insisted.

The old man's eyes widened. "No, no, no, I couldn't…not my daughter, sirs," he begged, stuttering madly. "You wouldn't be so cruel…"

"It's that or death for the both of you, mate," Venice added, trying to persuade the man into embracing the preposterous idea.

The girl looked at her father, wide-eyed, and then as she realized his expression was the same she turned on the two pirates with a glare. She met Baby's eyes, obviously sensing he was in more power than the younger, meeker one. The girl held his gaze for a very long time, her dark brown eyes burning into his pale blue ones.

She must have seen in him that he was not going to be lenient, for she turned to her father and nodded. The old man let out an odd sort of strangled cry and shook his head vigorously. The girl grasped his shoulder and nodded once more.

"My child--"

The girl embraced her father in a hug and even Venice had to shift uncomfortably. Even such as he were unhappy to tear apart such a happy embrace. But when they broke apart he quickly regained his pirate composure and pointed his gun at the girl.

"What's her name?" he demanded.

The old man swallowed back tears as he grasped his daughter's dirty hand tightly. "Her name…" he said softly. "Her name is Mariana." He broke off and had to release her hand.

The girl bent her head low, violin and bow gripped in one hand, and walked forward until she was directly in front of Baby. The pirate looked down upon her, but she would not lift her head.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he put away his pistol. He looked up at the old man, whose knees were knocking together in the weakness that overcame him at seeing his daughter being taken away.

Babylooked uponhim with pity, and almost considered shooting him to put him out of his misery.

"Good Sir," he called insteadas Venice began to lead the girl out of the barn. The old man looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"_Si_?" he answered, his voice suddenly lacking its passion.

"I can assure you that no harm shall come to your daughter while I protect her," he reassured. "I swear it upon my very life, sir."

And in these words the old man saw comfort. For some reason or another, he began to trust the young pirate who stood in the doorway of the dilapidated old barn in which he resided. "_Gracias_," the father whispered.

With a tip of his hat Baby Fischer followed his younger companion back to the ship of the _Black Pearl_, along with araggedy but intriguinggirl carrying a violin who, oddly enough,refused to scream.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **Oh, dear, I'm afraid I made Venice out into more of a dick than he deserves. Also, did I make it too obvious who his parents were? I want it to be a surprise...BWAHAHAHA. Now you shall review and make me happy and maybe I'll update quicker. This chapter was quite difficult to write...quite difficult indeed... 

Anyway, hope you like it!


	5. The Prize

**Author's Note: **Well, I'd just quickly like to thank my reviewers: Maya Bebop, Rose, Padme, Tink, Jopie, Tk, and everyone else. My, oh, my, methinks my twentieth reviewer will roll along here pretty quickly...who shall it be?

**In Case You've Forgotton...: **The twentieth reviewer shall recieve a role in the final two chapters of this story, which are presently being very roughly planned out.

**Disclaimer: **I own everyone! Ahaha, just kidding. No, if I _did _own anything, the world would truly be coming to a tragic end.

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Four - The Prize**

"Locke!"

"Aye, Captain?"

Jack Sparrow tipped his hat back so that it barely was on his head at all, and it was probably due to the filth of his hair that the tri-corner trademark stayed on. He darkly eyed the shipmate who was standing before his desk.

The desk was something Jack had acquired in the Caribbean. He knew that, and he took pleasure in the thing. It was a dark wood, polished and beautiful despite its pirating surroundings. Jack leaned backwards in his chair as his dark eyes scanned the man.

Lockewas not much of a pirate. He was a tubby lard of a man, with bushy eyebrows and spectacles he claimed could help him see, but the other men of the crew highly doubted it. He had come to the _Pearl_ in search of a way to flee his past. For you see, Locke, like most men, had been in love once.

His interest was beautiful, but she was also quite vain. She had scoffed at him, for he was in such a lower class and such a beast to a beauty like herself.Locke had fled from the cruel reality of it all and had, unfortunately, stumbled across Captain Jack Sparrow.

That event would plague him for the rest of his days.

The Captain ran his tongue over his front teeth and sensed it was time to find something with which to brush them. "Locke, what have you got?"

It was early morning, and they were already far departed from the port of the isle. They were headed towards their last island of the month, a bit northeast.

Jack had made a habit of taking inventory after each raid to make sure none of the crew hoarded things of value. Not that he needed to worry--the crewmen were so terrified of the consequences, their mannerisms had grown so timid that they wouldn't dare keep anything to themselves.

"Have a look here, Captain,"Locke said, allowing a smile to creep across his chubby face.

Jack nodded and the fat man waddled forward, dumping a sack onto Jack's desk. Out spilled several pots, some gold, and crimson fabrics. Jack rubbed the gold in between his fingers asLocke grinned, positively delighted with himself.

"How do you think, Captain?"Locke asked excitedly. "Quite valuable, I'd wager."

Jack blinked and dropped the gold, picking up the fabric and running it between his fingers. "What is this?" Jack asked in complete monotone.

"Silk, sir. Quite valuable in the West, I hear."

"From whom do you hear, Locke?" Jack said, glancing up.Locke faltered a bit.

"I…I don't quite follow you, Captain," he said honestly.

Jack cocked his head at him, a frown leaping to his face as he laid his pistol upon the table.Locke steadied himself, already shaking in fear. He scolded himself for being so cowardly. "Don't you, now?" Jack snarled. "Can you sew, Locke?"

The tubby man blinked. "Er…no, Captain."

"And if you cannot sew, can you make a garment?"

"No, Captain."

Jack let his chair fall back into place and he folded his hands under his chin. "Now, Locke," he said slowly. "Considering that factual information, do you think that most pirates can sew?"

Lockesmiled nervously. "Why, no, Captain. I suppose not."

Jack nodded. "Very good, Locke."

It was at this point that Locke made a mistake that nearly cost him his life. Had he been on the ship a bit longer, he would have seen that defying the captain would cause his single thread of sanity to snap.

"Captain, I simply thought--"

"You WHAT?" Jack shouted, pushing out of his chair so quickly it slid back and teetered a bit before toppling over.Locke gasped a little as the captain's cool demeanor began to chance. His face was contorted into rage, and one could forget how lovely a face he really had. Jack gripped his pistol and took a few giant strides forward. "You don't think, Locke!" he yelled. "You're a bloody pirate! It's not your_ job_ to think. That's why we have a captain, savvy?"

"Yes, captain, of course!" Locke squealed. "I shan't think again!"

"Jack!"

The captain of the _Black Pearl_ looked up as Baby Fischer came worriedly into the captain's quarters, his face a mask of emotional suffering in pity of the man who stood just a few yards away with a pistol aimed at another man's chest. Baby pushedLocke away and the fat pirate gave him a look of gratitude before waddling off. Jack glared at the younger man.

"That was not your place, Baby Fischer," he snarled. Baby's eyes narrowed.

"You were going to kill a man who has no reason to die," Baby said coolly. "If it is not my place to stop his senseless death, than I don't know what is."

Jack lunged forward and grabbed Baby by the collar, slamming him against the wall of the ship. The entire room seemed to creak as Baby let out a little groan. Jack's breathing was heavy and it actually looked as if there were a fire blazing in his twin brown eyes.

"Don't you ever, EVER talk to _me _like that, Baby," he hissed, his face so close to the other man's their noses nearly touched. "I'll kill you. I swear to whatever God there may be, I will kill you on the spot if you ever use that tone with me again."

Baby's rage, which had seconds earlier felt like a blazing forest fire, died almost instantly after that. He managed to squirm out of Jack's grip and brushed himself off as he let himself lean against the wall.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he said, his blue eyes seeming to grow a little lighter. "It shan't happen again."

"You had better pray it shan't happen again," Jack warned, walking back to his desk. He bent down and picked up his chair, setting it back steady before collapsing into it. "So, Master Fischer," Jack said, securing his hat back onto his head. "What have you and Venice got for me? You know I expect my best booty from you."

Baby nodded solemnly. "I know, sir," he said quickly. He peered out the door and called out. "Venice! Bring down what we acquired so Jack can see it."

"Right away, Baby," Venice's voice called.

Jack suddenly became rather confused. Now, one would never expect Jack to be rather clever or observant. For he had once acted like a lunatic and now like a madman. But in truth, he really was a rather brilliant man, and very observant. What bothered Jack so is that he head two pairs of footsteps coming down the rickety wooden steps to his quarters, not just the one set of Venice's.

And quickly he saw why.

She was pushed into the room so that she nearly fell to her knees, her head bent low and her scraggly hair a mop over her head. Baby shot Venice a dirty look as the teenager came into the quarters.

"What?" Venice demanded.

"Don't be rude," Baby scolded.

"I didn't mean to shove her, alright?" the teenage pirate said. Baby crossed his arms across his chest and strode over to the girl. He helped her to her feet and turned about to face Venice.

"Apologize to her," Baby insisted. Venice faltered.

"I beg your pardon?" he hissed, obviously feeling self-conscious.

All the while, Jack had been staring at the girl standing in his quarters. He could not see her face, for she refused to look up. His eyes scoured her every curve and he almost smirked. She had quite the figure. His eyes went down to her hands, and he noticed she had a violin grasped in one and a bow in the other.

When Jack snapped back to reality, Venice and Baby were still going at it as Baby kept his hand wrapped around the girl's thin forearm.

"You, heard me, Venice," Baby growled. "You apologize. This is a lady--"

"Stop," Jack said loudly. The two bickering friends looked up and a rosy tint sprinkled across Venice's nose and cheeks.

"Begging your pardon, Captain," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Don't beg for anything, Venice," Jack ordered. "It makes you lower than a peasant."

Venice looked down in shame and Baby inwardly sighed. Jack pointed at the girl with a dirty finger. "What is that?" he asked, clearly not amused.

"'Tis a lady, Sir," Baby responded. Jack rolled his dark brown eyes mockingly.

"Yes, I can see it's a lady, Baby Fischer," he said. "What the bloody hell is she doing on my ship, in my living quarters? Surely you weren't stupid enough to capture only one whore?"

Baby shook his head. "No, Captain, not at all," he protested. "She is a violinist. An amazing musician--Venice and I heard her ourselves. Her song…it is…" He paused, searching for the right words.

"Beautiful," Venice sighed from the corner, still looking at his feet. Baby nodded.

"Aye," he agreed. "Beautiful indeed."

At this, the girl's heart seemed to melt a bit. She looked up, her eyes meeting Baby's, and a smile spread across the pirate's face. At his desk, Jack's jaw nearly dropped. That girl…she looked so much like…

"Where did you find this woman?" Jack demanded breathily. The girl's eyes immediately resumed their downcast position. Baby looked over at Venice.

"In a barn, Captain," Venice answered. "She was living in a barn with her father."

"You did not take the man, I trust?" Jack said quietly, subconsciously standing up and taking a few strides forward.

"No, Sir," Baby replied.

Jack caught himself staring at the girl's bent head and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He had begun to wander off, and when he wandered off, he lost the grip over the crewmen he held. He lifted the girl's chin and she reluctantly looked up.

Her eyes were a deep brown, with flecks of gold. Her skin was considerably tanned, and on her cheekbones the tint was darker. Jack frowned at her and released her chin. The girl still looked up, her eyes burning into his. A deep heat filled his belly, and he recognized it as a dull rage.

"What is your name, my mysterious lady?" Jack asked sweetly, slurring the words a bit--not from the drink, which he had scarcely touched over the past seventeen years, but from mere habit.

The girl blinked and Venice cleared his throat. "Her name is Mariana, Captain," he answered and Jack immediately tore from the girl's burning gaze and took a menacing step towards Venice.

"I do believe she should answer for herself, insolent youth," the pirate captain snarled and Venice looked back down at his shoes in shame.

"Captain," Baby interrupted, despite the fear of the consequences which might come as a result of it. "She truly cannot answer for herself."

Jack glared at the younger man. "Oh, really?" he growled. "And why would that be, Baby?"

"Sir, she's mute."

Jack paused, his words of rebuttal catching in his throat. He blinked and did nothing but stare at the girl's face for what seemed to be an age. And then, Jack Sparrow did something he hadn't done in a very, very long time.

He laughed.

Of course, it wasn't a good-natured laugh--Jack hadn't uttered one of those in more than seventeen years. This was a cruel laugh, a mocking laugh, one that burned the soul in shame.

"Are you boys completely DAFT?" Jack asked between snickers. "You got a mute whore? A mute whore? What on God's green earth would you get a mute whore for?"

"Captain--"

"She can't very well scream your name when you're making love, can she?" Jack laughed loudly. Baby shifted uncomfortably and the girl shot him a dirty look. He glanced at her apologetically and cleared his throat once more.

"She's not a whore, Jack," he said quietly.

Jack immediately stopped laughing and looked at his fellow pirate. "Oh?" he replied. "Than what is she? Hopefully a seamstress so we can make something out of Locke's ridiculous cloth-obsession."

Baby shook his head. "No, Jack, not a seamstress," he answered. "Mariana is a violinist."

Jack blinked. "She's a what?" he repeated.

"A violinist, Jack," Baby answered. "A musician."

Jack paused, eyebrows lifted in consideration. "Don't insult my intelligence, boy," he ordered, his voice somehow lacking its normal harshness. "I know full well what a violinist is."

Baby nodded. "Apologies, Captain. I simply wanted to clarify."

Jack blinked again, unmoving. Any sign of laughter had been washed away from his face in the blink of an eye. "Why the bloody hell did you fetch a _musician_?" he demanded finally.

"It would calm the men, Captain," Baby argued. "You know as well as I that they live in fear. Perhaps having a source of music on board would comfort them."

Jack twiddled the braids in his beard thoughtfully. "Well…" he pondered, sighing to himself. "I suppose she can't do any harm…" He snapped his fingers at the girl and she started. "Play something for me, my lady," he ordered. "Let us see if my dear young crewmates are telling me the truth."

Mariana shot a look at Baby, who nodded. She stared at him for a very long time before slowly shaking her head 'no.' Baby's face turned white and Venice looked like he were about to be sick.

"Wonderful, she's feisty," he groaned sarcastically as he turned to face the wall.

Jack's face, had it not have been so tan from working in the sun, would have turned a pasty pale color, and then a deep crimson. However, his cheeks only lessened their coloring a little as his eyes flashed with a dull rage. "I gave you an order, missy," he snarled. "It'd be in your best interests to follow it."

Before Baby could interject, Mariana switched her violin into her other hand so one was free and with it slapped the pirate captain across the face.

Now, Jack Sparrow had been slapped many a time before. He was with five women at a time, usually, most of them from Tortuga. And the women in Tortuga, the women who associated with Jack Sparrow, were quite hot-tempered.

But it had been years since he had been slapped. In those years, he may have taken in light-heartedly, making a sly remark about how he may not have deserved that. But now, with his humor gone and only his anger to feed upon, he did not take her slap as a joke. Jack grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she winced and her eyes began to water.

"Captain--" Baby began.

"Don't you DARE say a word," Jack hissed and Baby promptly shut his mouth. Jack locked eyes with Mariana and put his other hand around her slender neck. His thumb rested on her protruding collarbone as his fingers played with the earring that dangled from her ear. "Now, you listen to me, missy," he said icily, his hot breath making her eyes water. "I am the captain of this ship. I can throw you over the rail and doom you to Davy Jones' locker whenever I please. I will kill you if you ever strike me again, be you a lady or not. You have my word on that."

Mariana's eyes glazed over and she jerked away from his grip. Jack turned around so that he was staring out his window. The sun was beginning to set, sending its pink and orange early goodbyes across the horizon and into the room. To most, the sight was beauty. But to Jack Sparrow, it was horrible. It meant the coming of the night, when he was be truly alone.

"Take her to the guest cabin," Jack ordered, still facing out the window. "Get her blankets for her bed. I do believe there are still some of Anamaria's old clothes in that closet."

The words didn't register with Baby at first. He was letting her stay? After she had been so bold as to strike him? He looked down at Mariana in wonderment, but her gazed was fixed on the nothingness that loomed ahead of her.

"Er…Captain--" Baby began, confused by the whole manner. Jack turned about violently.

"Don't you question my orders," he snarled. "You have your demands. Now be off and see that they're fulfilled."

Baby nodded dutifully. "Aye, aye, Captain," he agreed. He nodded at Venice and they clamored down the stairs to the lower decks with Mariana.

The instant the door to the room was shut, Jack collapsed onto the bed, his shoulders jerking violently. "How could it…How could she be…" Jack mumbled incoherently.

_She is not the one you are thinking of_, his Shadow Man answered in his head.

"How do you know?" Jack whispered, burying his face into his pillow.

_I know because I am you_, the Shadow Man responded. _And so, I knew her. And that little wench is not her._

Jack bolted to his feet. "You're right," he agreed. "Absolutely right. It's not her. There is no way in all the regions of hell that it could be her."

His Shadow Man chuckled inside his mind. _That's a good boy_, it cooed, and Jack plopped down into his bed as the sun continued to sink in the sky.

* * *

"I'm sorry for all that," Baby apologized as he made Mariana's bed. The girl had her back to him, and was staring out the window. The blazing glow filled the room, casting glorious shadows over her face. Baby sighed as he fluffed her pillow for what must have been the fifth time. "He's not always like that, you know," he said. 

Mariana looked over her shoulder at him, her eyebrow arced. Baby grimaced.

"Well, he is now," the youth admitted. "But he wasn't always." Mariana looked back out to the sad. "I knew him when I was just a lad," Baby reminisced. "I was an orphan, and Jack took me in. He was like a father to me--taught me how to shoot before I could talk." A warm smile came over his face.

"He lost someone," he said, the smile turning sad. Mariana turned round quietly, suddenly interested. "Someone dear to him. I think he loved her--and I think she loved him, too, though neither of them would ever admit it. She was beautiful, you know." Baby sighed. "She was killed when I was just a boy--just seven or eight years old, I think. Murdered in a fight."

Mariana looked at him, somewhat sorrowfully. Baby looked up at her and she was surprised to see that his eyes were sparkling with tears he refused to shed. "He lost the only love of his life," he continued. "And I suppose if you take that from a man he becomes nothing."

He smiled and rubbed his eyes free of the salty pools that were drowning them. "Mariana," he said and she blinked at him. "I hate to be a bother, but I was wondering if you wouldn't play your violin for me?"

She stared at him in awe. At first, she had taken him to be just another scallywag. He had the look--he was dirty and his back teeth were gold. That single golden hoop earring was a dead giveaway. But now--and she hated to think it--she assumed he might be something much different. Slowly, she nodded and that childish grin sprang to his face.

"Thank you," he said. "Your music is…entrancing."

She blushed a little in reply, noticing for the first time how handsome he was.

"Do you write it?" Baby asked excitedly. "That is, I mean, do you make it up yourself?"

She nodded with a smile. Baby smiled right back, and had she a voice, she might have laughed at a pirate sitting like a little boy grinning the grin of a child. Mariana picked up her bow and violin and settled the instrument against her neck and chin. She took a deep sigh and began to play.

Baby Fischer sat there, his head against the wall, breathing deeply as if he were inhaling the music. With each note his heart rose higher as if it had sprouted wings. The music was beautiful…just like her.

He closed his eyes and sighed as the song reached its end. Mariana put down her violin on the splintered desk that was propped against the wall. Baby lifted his head and got to his feet, walking over to her. He took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Thank you," he said softly and pecked the top of her hand.

Mariana just stood there, her eyes vacant with confusion.

Baby gave her a smile and sighed. "You are a magnificent creature," he said and strode out of the room.

He pushed his heart back down into his chest as he left, but it didn't want to obey. It wanted to be with the music.

It wanted to be with her.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **The fluff! THE FLUFF! Gah! It was so fluffy, but I felt a certain amount of fluff was needed.

Now, who could Mariana remind Jack of? Hmmm...JEOPARDY!

Review, duckies, like the wonderful people you are.


	6. Shadow Man

**WINNER! WINNER! WINNER!**

**Announcement: **Yes, ladies and gents, my twentieth reviewer has arrived and has won the role in the final two chapters! Congratulations to Shallow Waters for thoroughly kicking ass. You need to either accept this role and get a profile to me (via review) or decline it. If the latter is chosen, the runner-up will be Maya Bebop for being my very first reviewer and long-time fan. Congrats to you, Maya.

**Author's Note: **I was planning on going one direction with this story, but due to some excellent feedback by you lovely reviewers, I've decided to...hmm...rearrange some "plot progressions." Oh, there shall be tragedy, my dears--but maybe, just maybe I'll give you all a happy ending.

**Disclaimer: **_cries _I own nothing...

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Five - Shadow Man**

It had been six weeks since Mariana had stepped foot onto the _Black Pearl_. One couldn't count the number of compliments Baby and Venice received for the find of her. All the men of the ship seemed entranced with her.

All but one.

Jack chewed on the remnants of a chicken bone as he prowled about the deck. He snapped orders to men every now and then, but it didn't really matter. He had no idea as to where they were going. He had announced he wanted to go about without coordinates to free his mind. In truth, he really had no mind to free.

Jack was a man caged by his own insanity. He was dark and menacing and often what most would call 'maroon-worthy.' Jack paid them no attention--he thought he was perfectly sane and a damn good captain. He had finally fitted the role of a pirate; that is, he was a merciless fiend.

And though Jack was not proud of the things he so often did, he was not ashamed, either.

Jack leaned over the side of the rail, spitting the bone into the deep, restless aquamarine abyss that was the sea he sailed upon. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. This girl--this Mariana of Spain--was driving him absolutely mad.

She was to blame for the sour mood he had been in lately.

Though most men would say Jack Sparrow was always in a sour mood, the captain himself would beg to differ. He saw himself as perfectly composed. It was a miracle if he admitted he might be being a tad homicidal.

Jack saw Mariana as nothing but a whore of a distraction. She was beautiful, he would not doubt it, as would none of the men. But although she was warm to nearly everyone on board, she thoroughly detested Jack. Though she could not curse him with her lips, she could stab him with her eyes. Those eyes that were so astoundingly familiar…

She still refused to play her violin for him. The crew roared about her genius, but so far Jack had heard none of it. And try as he might to act nonchalant and not give a damn, Mariana was not someone who was easily ignored. She was always there, sending him icy glares--on deck, down below, wherever he was at the time.

Jack twisted the rail in his hands. Why did she refuse him the pleasure of hearing her music? For the love of the gods, who was she to come in and drive him mad, like a leak that won't stop drip-dropping in the god-awful hours of the night?

Who was she to become an obsession?

Jack immediately released the handle as he thought about what he had just considered. Was he obsessed with her? True, she did plague his thoughts, but that surely wasn't out of obsession. It was out of pure annoyance and distaste.

Wasn't it?

"I need to consult someone," Jack said aloud to no one in particular. He scanned the ship, his eyes squinted into tiny slits. "Gibbs!" he called loudly, swaying out of habit. When no answer came from the crowd upon the deck, he roared out the name.

"Where is that little bugger of an old man?" Jack muttered to himself. He saw a figure dashing past him and grasped the youth's shoulder. Venice looked at him in surprise.

"Captain?" he said automatically.

Jack blinked at the boy. "Where be Gibbs, lad?" he questioned rather loudly. Venice blinked.

"I beg your pardon, Captain?" he said.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to beg, boy!" Jack roared, shoving Venice a bit. The teenage pirate regained his footing and nodded.

"Of course, Captain," he apologized. "It shan't happen again."

"It had better not, boy," Jack snarled, "or it's your hide. Now, what I asked you is, where be Gibbs?"

Venice blinked, his eyes wide with a shock and a pain veiled behind it. "Captain, surely you would not ask me that," he said quietly, gulping down hard so that his Adam's apple bobbed obviously up and down his throat. Jack's brow furled.

"Aye, indeed I would," Jack said, his eyes darting around suspiciously. Something was wrong…something was terribly wrong…

"Sir…" Venice answered with a sigh and another gulp, "Mister Gibbs is now five years dead."

At the mere suggestion Jack stopped moving, thinking, and breathing. His hands gripped again the railing as the color drained from his cheeks. "You must be jesting with me, boy," he said through clenched teeth. Venice shook his head solemnly.

"No, Captain," he insisted. "Surely you remember?"

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. His Shadow Man laughed at him from inside his head.

_It seems I've taken one of your precious little memories and caged it up, doesn't it?_ the Shadow Man chortled. _Oh, well. I suppose I can let you in…if only I can find that damn key…_

Jack faded from the world as he entered his own mind and searched for a memory which should never have been lost.

* * *

_The old man didn't look well, Jack decided as he looked at the bed. The overgrown bag of skin that was Gibbs had been sick for two weeks straight now. Jack could not recall when Gibbs had looked worse._

_The older man's eyes opened and his bushy eyebrows lifted in greeting. "Well, if it isn't my dear Captain Jack," Gibbs said with a weak grin. Jack blinked._

_"Don't be daft, man," he ordered. "I haven't been dear old Captain Jack in a while."_

_Gibbs gave a sort of nod, but it was smothered by the weakness in his body. "Why am I in bed here, Jack? Surely I can't have been so drunk I don't remember?"_

_Despite Gibbs's mischievous grin, the expression that rested upon Jack's face remained solemn. "Would you like me to tell you the truth, man?" he asked with a sigh as he removed his hat._

_Gibbs nodded. "Jack, you'd better damn well tell me why I can't move," he grumbled, pathetically shaking a plump finger._

_Jack looked down and started fiddling with his hat. The insides were worn and dirty, and the leather was beginning to have an extremely tarnished look about it._

_"Jack," Gibbs breathed and the captain looked up. "Tell me, lad. Tell me what's wrong with me."_

_Jack's brow furled. "What's wrong with you is that you're a pirate," he snarled, making Gibbs draw back in surprise. "You're a damned pirate, Gibbs. The worst of all criminals. A sea rat. For God's sakes, you're older than I myself am! You should be married, with some kids, and grandchildren on the way. You should be reclining on a damn beach. What's wrong with you is that you're bloody scum." He looked back down at his hat and grimaced. "Just like me," he said softly. "Alone you are, Gibbs. Alone we are together."_

_Gibbs stared at his captain for a very long time. He finally drew in a deep breath and spoke. "Jack, I feel as though I am dying," he confided._

_Jack jerked his head upwards. "Do you, really?" he whispered breathily, running a hand through his dirty hair as his eyes scanned the older man's weakening form._

_Gibbs gave a weak nod. "Aye, my boy," he assured._

_Jack blinked his deep brown eyes before twirling the braids in his beard with his thumb and forefinger. Dying. He knew that was what Gibbs was doing. He didn't even need a doctor to diagnose it. For Jack had seen much death in his time, and knew that the grasp of eternal sleep had finally caught a hold of his old friend--his only friend, really._

_"What does it feel like, Gibbs?" Jack asked quietly after a sudden silenece. Gibbs looked straight into his captain's eyes and pursed his lips thoughtfully before answering._

_"Like…" he paused. Gibbs was but a humble pirate, and had but a humble vocabulary. He sighed. "It's like the night, Jack. It's dark, unknown--it makes the strongest man fearful. Takes a hold of you by the throat and presses against your breath slowly, so as the pain is carried out. The darkness doesn't come all at once, you see. It slowly comes, making you dread its arrival." He stared at Jack. "Why do you ask, Captain?"_

_Jack sighed and placed his hat back up onto his head. "Because I have felt I was dying for the last twelve years," Jack said quietly. His eyes lost their vacant, glazed cover and sorrow painted itself across his brow. "It is a burden no one should ever be forced to bear. I am sorry you must endure it now."_

_Gibbs's eyes went wider with a fright. "I don't want to endure it no more, Jack," he whispered. Jack stared at him for a long time, not quite understanding what he meant. "I want it to end NOW," Gibbs said after a long while, and Jack's eyes flew wider._

_"You cannot ask me to do this," he whispered, his eyes brimming with a strange, unfamiliar sensation of salty wetness. "No. I can't--"_

_"Please, Jack," Gibbs pleaded. "For the love of God. I don't want Death to grab me. I want to jump into its arms. I choose my own damn fate."_

_Jack wiped his eyes frantically, occasionally giving little whispers of how he couldn't do it, no, don't ask it of him, please Gibbs…_

_And yet he reached for the pistol._

_Jack blinked away his tears as he clicked off his safety. "I wish you could have been with me, my friend," he confessed. "When it comes to be the end of all things."_

_Gibbs gave a weak little grin. "Oh, Jack," he whispered. "It is the end." He nodded and closed his eyes. "Goodbye, Jack."_

_Jack blinked away a tear and pulled the trigger, not looking to see where it had hit. It seemed to have made contact, though, because the old man's breathing slowed and finally came to a complete stop. Jack stood up, shoved his pistol into his belt, and turned about._

_"Godspeed, old man," he said in monotone. "May flights of angels take thee to thy rest." _

_

* * *

_

**Closing Notes: **Ahaha, oooh, I love it. I feel awfully evil...but I hope I've given Jack an underlying tone of sympathy. Success? Failure? What do you lovely reviewers think?


	7. For Music

**ShallowWaters **has officially won that promised role. Thanks to **Maya Bebop, **anyway. To ShallowWaters: I will need a character name, age, hair color, eye color, personality, hobbies, and any extra information you'd like to have. Get this to me via review, if you please.

**Special Thanks: **To all my reviewers, really. You all inspire me to keep on keepin' on or whatever the hell it is I do. So, thanks.

**Disclaimer: **Wow, I'm not crying! I don't own any POTC characters, but I _do _own Venice, Baby, Mariana, and anyone else you don't recognize. Woohoo!

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Six - For Music**

Mariana had never been on a ship before in her entire life. She had been deadly afraid of the sea, never wanting to come in contact with it. The sea was dark and merciless, like the monsters her dreams held.

Gibbs had used to say that it was frightful bad luck to have a woman on a ship. That went back to the tale of sirens, the beautiful womanly creatures who lured men to sea. That in itself was a tale to be wary of, to be sure. But that wasn't the real reason women should not have ever been upon a ship, be it pirate or pure.

You see, it is very difficult to swim in a dress. It is also very difficult to swim in a corset. If a woman were accidentally thrown overboard by some trick of the tide, she would surely drown.

Mariana had never learned to swim, so she was terrified enough already. But to drown due to the weight of her dress was more than she could bear to think of. She had exchanged her clothes for some of Anamaria's old. Though they were dirty and didn't smell quite right, she would rather be stinky than drown.

Jack had not come out of his cabin in three days. Since Mariana refused to play in front of him, the crew had used this time to hear as much of her music as they possibly could before Jack was prowling about on deck again, in as foul a mood as ever, complaining about the food or the way the damned woman seemed to glare at him.

It had also provided Baby with more spare time to be around her.

That god awful pulling in his heart seemed to never cease, but she often soothed it with her presence. Baby couldn't help but have a moronic grin on his face whenever he was around her, and he couldn't help but wonder why. In the night, when he should have been asleep along with all others, he quietly crept into Mariana's quarters.

She was not asleep, as he had expected--she was wide awake, staring out her window. The moonlight bounced off the sea and struck her face so that it was illuminated with a pale glow. She did not even turn as Baby entered the room and not even when he stood by her side.

"I'll never get tired of that ocean," he said with a sigh.

Mariana finally looked up at him. He had a faint smile playing at his lips as he kept his eyes locked on the blue-black never-ending water that stretched in front of them.

"She always looks different, if only just. Maybe the light falls on her surface a bit differently. Maybe she waves a different goodbye." Baby let a little laugh escape his lips. "Of course, she never really says goodbye. She's always there." He looked down. "Do you hate me for it, Mariana?" he whispered.

Her expression went blank for a moment, as if she had not understood what he said. Then her eyebrows furled and she cocked her head at him.

"I mean, for bringing you here," he added. "Bringing you into this god awful scene--this life." He snickered a bit. "It's not even a life, really--a half-life. I'm sorry I brought you into it. I truly am."

She stared at him for a very long time as his blue eyes scanned the sea. Mariana touched the side of his face with one hand and turned it so that his eyes met hers. His eyes were now wide, not with fear, but with wonder.

In the blink of an eye, she jumped onto her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss.

Baby stared at her as she sank back onto her feet, a deep blush on her cheeks and a smile playing at her lips. At first, he did not know what to do or say. Thousands of thoughts streamed through his mind's eye, and he couldn't pinpoint and analyze a single one.

So, obviously, he did what his instincts screamed at him to do.

He lifted her head back up and kissed her again, more deeply.

Mariana inwardly sighed, giving into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking into the warmth of his body as it pressed against hers. Baby held her face with one hand and with the other drew little designs on her back, causing her spine to tingle. When they drew away he sighed.

"I think I must love you," he admitted in a whisper as he held her hands in one of his larger, rougher hands.

Her eyes went wide and she jerked up at the thought. Babylaughed to himself a little.

"You don't have to love me, Mariana," he told her as he brushed some of her long, unkempt hair out of her face. "But I just thought you might like to know. I love you, my beauty."

The Spanish woman paused for a moment, considering. She had never been in love before. She guessed Baby had--he was extremely attractive, and probably had a few more women than she could count. Still…there was a feeling in her heart…

Mariana smiled and nodded in agreement. She did love Baby Fischer. She loved him with all her heart and soul and mind. A grin broke out across Baby's face and he kissed her once more.

"Wonderful," he said, his voice a little more high-pitched than normal. Then, like a schoolboy, he hopped out of her room, a little skip in his step.

Mariana stood there smiling for what seemed like years. She had never made a man skip before. Not for her.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Jack ventured out of his cabin the next day. He had grown bored and tired of arguing with his Shadow Man, and was long since over mourning for the death he had forgotten. He hated himself for forgetting the death of who must have been his closest comrade, for Jack could not recall ever being angry with Gibbs. But the Shadow Man had convinced him it was nothing, it was done, and to forget the whole thing.

And so, Jack forgot.

Besides, his thoughts were wiped away the day he hopped back on deck and saw her there.

At first, he could not believe it. His eyes grew wide--no, it couldn't be. She was gone. She couldn't be there. It was his mind, playing tricks on him--it had to be--

_It's not me, lad,_ his Shadow Man said to him. _I give you my word it's not._

Jack took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes with his fists like a little child. When he looked again, she was still there…still on his boat…

"A dream," he murmured. "It is but a dream…"

But even as he spoke, Jack could feel the wind on his face, taste the salt in the air. He could hear his heart thumping like a mad person's inside his chest, leaping up to his throat, trying desperately to escape the confines of his ribcage. Jack felt that sensation of wetness in his eyes that he had not felt in far too long a time.

"Oh, Anamaria…" he whispered.

It was her. It was really his Ana. She had her wide-rimmed hat on and was gazing to the sea. It was just as he remembered her. Jack managed to find a feeling in his feet and stumble towards her, a feeling building up inside of him he didn't recognize at first. It was a bubbling sensation in his chest, a ringing in his ears--and with wonder Jack realized it was happiness.

And a second later, it was gone.

She didn't turn around slowly--it was a quick jolt, and by the time she had Jack was inches away from her face. Her brown eyes searched his face in disgust and the bubbling feeling sank back to whatever vat it had come from.

"Anamaria?" Jack whispered, searching her face for some sign of familiarity. But in it he saw none. Just a cold gaze of hatred and loathing, a gaze Anamaria would never have shot at him.

Mariana, cloaked from head to toe in Anamaria's old clothing, slipped away from him, her lips pursed into a thin line. She didn't understand what he had called her and why. But something bothered her.

The look on his face…it had been one of pure anguish.

The girl brushed away the thought and stormed off to her lower cabin, her heart thundering in her chest. She should see Baby. He obviously knew the pirate captain better than any--he would tell her what it was.

Jack stood there for a while, staring at the space where his vision had been. "It…it wasn't her…" he mumbled.

_'Course it wasn't, you blithering maniac,_ the Shadow Man howled with laughter. _Anamaria is dead, Jack. She's never coming back._

Jack shook his head. "No…never…" he repeated vacantly.

_But if you'd ask me, _the Shadow Man continued, and Jack could almost see his smirk, _that little Spanish wench had no right to lead you on._

"Absolutely not," Jack said, that dull rage once again building in his belly.

_Don't you think it's time she was taught a lesson, Jack? _the Shadow Man persuaded. _After all, she's been on the Pearl for a month now, and not once have you heard that enticing song that's grown so famous among your men._

"Indeed," Jack muttered, clenching his fists at his sides and stalking across the shining wooden deck to the stairs that lead to the lower quarters. His Shadow Man cackled madly inside his mind, the noise echoing harshly off the caged memories it held.

_That's a good lad, Jack,_ the Shadow Man cooed.

Jack muttered a few curses as he thumped down the stairs, his clunky old boots slamming into each step, making them scream their creaking scream of pain at the weight. Jack paid them no mind. He had to find her--she had disrespected him for the last time. The bloody peasant was a guest aboard his ship, and he would not be made a fool of by some wench.

"WENCH!" Jack heard himself roar, though he could not recall making the decision to shout. He turned about down the hallway and thundered to Anamaria's room. "You will not trick me," Jack whispered hotly as his hands grasped the glass doorknob.

He paused briefly for a moment as he heard something behind the door--the violin, playing a harsh, angry melody. The mere thought of it made his rage build and he threw open the door without a second's hesitation.

Mariana immediately stopped playing as he loomed into the doorway, his chest heaving as he panted with pure rage. Her eyes glazed over, a habit of hers Jack was becoming less and less fond of. Jack stared at her, his eyebrows knitted and his eyes literally blazing with a deep fury.

"Why is it," he hissed as he took three menacing steps forward, "that you play for an empty room, but you will not play for me?"

Mariana stood her ground as he took the fourth step. Her eyes held no fear, and it infuriated him further. Everyone was afraid of him. He was infamous. A ruthless killing pirate who had ravaged the seven seas for longer than most could remember. And yet this girl stood there, unblinking, as if she had never heard his name.

"What is so horrendous about me, eh?" he asked with a low growl. "Is it my face? Tell me it's not my face, wench." She just blinked at him and he swayed a little in his step. "Oh, that's right. You can't tell me, can you?"

Mariana's face boiled with a hatred and rage for only a moment before she regained her composure and gave him the iciest of glares. Jack reached into his belt and yanked out his pistol, but she did not even flinch as he aimed the thing at her chest. Jack cocked his head at her.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he said with a sort of sigh.

Mariana slowly nodded her head yes. Jack snorted.

"I suppose you care not for your own life then, eh?" he said, his tone just short of mocking.

Mariana gave him a cold hard stare and nodded again. Her hands were balled up into fists at her sides, so tightly curled that her nails dug deep into her palms, drawing blood.

Jack pondered for a moment. He had his gun pointed at her. Should he pull the trigger? Kill her? Be rid of her? Or…should he not? His mind darted back and worth, considering his options. As he did, his eyes traced down Mariana's body until it came to rest on the crimson violin that was grasped in one hand. He pointed his pistol at the instrument and nodded his head at her.

"You play for me," he growled, "or I'll blow apart your precious violin."

Mariana's glorious honey-brown eyes went wide with shock and, behind them, fear. Jack nearly smirked at her reaction as he felt a sensation of triumph build inside of him. She obviously cared more for the damned instrument than her own life. It was probably a family heirloom. Jack scoffed at such sentiments.

Mariana's glare could not have been more full of rage than it was when she brought the violin up beneath her chin, so reluctantly and slowly that Jack nearly got bored. Finally, her eyes blazing with fury and resentment, Mariana began to play.

Jack Sparrow was not a god, not even close to comparison. Although he often tried to assure himself that he was unreachable and untouchable, there were a select few people and things that could grab the remnants of what was once his heart and tie them painfully into crude knots. And as the girl who reminded him so much of his Ana played a song of anger and disgust, Jack realized something.

He hated music.

It is not an event that breaks the heart. It is the music that follows it. The song evokes emotions never before released. It opens the Pandora's box locked in every heart. Music crushed the heart, raped the soul, killed the mind.

And as Jack realized he hated music, he discovered something else.

He hated that girl.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **Now, I _know _you didn't see that coming. Hey, I've just realized I stole the Red Violin from a certain film...if you name it, you get a cookie... 


	8. Baby Face

**Author's Note: **Aieeeeeee! This is so so so so SO late, and I apologize a thousand times over and a thousand times again. **ShallowWaters, **your chapters are in their planning stages. Congrats!

**Thanks...**To all of you. You really encourage me. Thanks a lot!

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Seven - Baby Face**

Baby Fischer had known he wanted to be a pirate the day his father was killed by one.

Now, to most, that may sound horrid and completely insane, not to mention a horrible reason to want to pursue a profession, if you can call pirating a profession. But most did not know the elder Fischer, or how he hated his children. And most did not know Baby Fischer and his childhood.

Baby never got the name of the man who slit his father's throat, but he knew he had been spared, so he was ever thankful to the pirate.

Mariana had more difficulty understanding why any person would ever want to be a pirate. On the whole, she saw them as greedy, vile, and dissolute--a completely different species separated from the rest of society, civilized or not. She tended to group them together, which she was ashamed at herself for, because men like Baby broke that barrier she had imagined up. Still, no matter how wonderful one pirate might be, she could not see why someone would want to pursue such a profession--if you could even call it that.

Such an attitude became evident to Baby when he finally noticed she shot glares of disgust to every man of the ship.

Now Baby was a sensible young man. He did not court whores, he did not drink rum earlier than noon; nor did he think too highly of himself. However, he could not begin to grasp as to why someone would treat his comrades--men he had known his entire life--as though they were no better than sea scurvy.

In the depths of the night as he lay beside her, his arms wrapped possessively about her small waist, he dared ask.

"Mariana?" he whispered.

The Spaniard continued to sleep soundly, her face buried deep into her less-than-comfortable pillow. Baby sighed to himself. _Just forget the damned thing, man_, his voice of reason ordered. _You have a beautiful woman in your arms. For the love of god, **don't blow it.**_

But it was not very often Baby listen to his conscience.

"Mariana?" he tried again, squeezing her hips gently and placing a soft kiss on the nape of her neck.

This time Mariana did stir--ever so softly, her lips parting a bit to breathe threw her mouth. Baby just noticed now that she did that; switched from nose breathing to mouth breathing when she was conscious. It was…sweet. Endearing.

Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked away the veil of sleep to turn to him so that his hips were against hers. Mariana cocked a thick black eyebrow, her lips wearing a frown. Her expression asked him what was the matter.

"I have to ask you something," Baby confessed, taking her hands and kissing them lightly. "And I'm not really sure as to why it bothers me so. But…I just need to ask."

Mariana blinked, and nodded, urging him to ask. He looked…worried almost. He looked his own age, something she had never seen before.

"I've just noticed…on board the ship…you seem to…how shall I put it?" He pondered for a moment, his frown deepening. "You seem to look at the men with…I don't know…_loathing_."

Mariana's mouth opened a little, but then she averted her eyes from his, ashamed. For he was speaking the truth--she treated none of the men with anything remotely related to respect.

"And, god help me, you probably your reasons," Baby said quickly, as if to apologize. "But…I don't know, love…I've never seen anyone give my mates looks like you do." He tilted her chin upward and pressed his forehead against hers, their hot breath mingling together in midair. "I just want to understand, love," he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his pale lips.

And with that, Mariana silently began to cry.

Baby nearly sprung to his feet in alarm as the fat tears rolled down her dirty, tan cheeks. _You've blown it, you blithering moron!_ his conscience screamed. _Bloody lost her!_

Baby didn't understand this at all. What had he said? What had he _done_? Oh, god, he'd gone and made her cry. Baby hardly ever made women cry, even when he left them. And when they did, he at least understood why they had cried. But now…he didn't get it. He just couldn't see the action that had started the waterworks.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," he apologized, nearly sinking to his knees in pleading. "Mariana, love, I'm so sorry--I mean, I didn't mean--Don't cry. Please don't cry." He touched the side of her face and wiped away a tear. Mariana looked up and shook her head, and he groaned._ She wasn't going to accept his apology!_ his conscience screamed. _What is WRONG with this woman!_

And then, without any sort of warning at all, Mariana's lips crashed into his in a passion-filled kiss.

Of course, he didn't deny her--that would be outrageously stupid of him. But the question still hung over his head like a rain cloud--_What the hell had triggered her little water show?_

Mariana pulled him closer to her, so that his torso was in between her legs. Her tears still fell freely, but not out of sadness or out of being offended. These were tears of happiness and love. No one had ever tried to understand her before. And now this pirate was trying harder than any other man could to figure out what made her tick.

It was wonderful.

And from the doorway, twin brown eyes which had long lost their luster and life peered at the scene, a cloud of rage overcast them. The face to which the eyes belonged was contorted into an emotion that could not quite be pinpointed. It was like hatred, only less crude. Like outrage, only more raw. And it was like fury, only the burning it caused in his stomach was greater than and fury her had ever experienced before.

Jack Sparrow was by no means a remotely reasonable person. Even he himself would agree with that statement. However, he was certainly not insane. In fact, he held onto it and treasured it like a human child of his own. Jack's sanity was all he had left, and he was holding onto it tightly as a security blanket.

But on the night he saw his former cabin boy kiss a girl in the likeness of the woman who had once stolen his heart, Jack did two things.

Firstly, he finally let his sanity go, and it dashed madly into the night like a dog let off its leash, away from the master who had abused it for years and years.

And on that night, as the darkness consumed his once resonating mind, Jack also finally discovered with a cold chill that he was and would always be alone.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **I know, it's short, but I'm putting up another today, just for you guys!


	9. Farewell, My Child

**Author's Notes: **You know the drill.

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Eight - Farewell, My Child**

_As Jack blocked another slash to his face, he came to realize that William Turner the Junior had not at all lost his sword-fighting techniques. His form was as excellent as ever, and his parries were expertly laid out. Despite it all, Jack remained unfazed as he dodged a blow._

_"Come now, Will, my lad," he taunted. "You know it takes more than good form to beat one such as I."_

_But Will Turner wasn't fighting to beat the pirate captain. He was still trying to talk some sense into Jack, not knowing that it was an impossible feat. Jack had no clear thought left in him._

_"Come on, Jack," Will begged through gritted teeth. "I know you're in there, old friend. Come now, you know you don't want to kill us."_

_Jack let a grin dance upon his face and his eyes glinted with a crazed glow as he glanced in the corner. There was the dead Elizabeth, her honey-colored hair in loose ringlets tumbling in torrents down her shoulders like water down a rock. Blood flowed steadily from her head, due to a smash with a mallet._

_In her arms was a child, obviously unaware that his mother had passed. It was a boy, no older than five, but he was wise enough to know to stay there and keep shut up. His eyes, honey-colored, like his mother's, were wide with a fear. His father had often told him tales of the great Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl._

_But was this he? Could this truly be the man his father had meant? Could it be the man who was going to kill them now?_

_"What, kill the both of you?" Jack said, mock-astonishment cruelly creeping into his tone. "You and that little boy? Now, Will, why would I ever do such a thing? It truly hurts me to think you'd believe that."_

_"Jack, please, listen to me," Will pleaded. "What's happened to you?"_

_Jack sliced the flesh on Will's left forearm and the young Turner hissed in pain as his shirt showed his strawberry gash. When he glanced up from his wound, Jack had a pistol pointed to his head, and the pirate's face was suddenly devoid of humor, cruel as it were._

_"What has happened to me, Will, my boy?" he asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer. "What indeed? I was great once, you know. Do you remember when I was great?"_

_Will gulped and dropped his sword, knowing that as long as he was in gaze of Jack Sparrow he could not fight back. "I reckon I did, Jack," he whispered. "I remember very well when you earned back the Pearl."_

_A smile appeared on Jack's face as he bared a few golden teeth mingled among uncared for white ones. "Aye, I do recall that incident," he said, in almost a dream-like remembrance. "Twas a fine adventure, eh, Will?"_

_Will nodded. "Yes, it was, Jack," he said softly._

_"I was greater than that, you know," Jack continued, never breaking his hold with Will's dark brown eyes as he kept the pistol aimed at his head and his hand grasped about the hilt of his sword. "I mean, that wasn't exactly the high point of me life, when you met me. I was better after it, far better. Do you remember, Will? Remember Anamaria?"_

_Will nodded again, wiping some sweat from his face with a dirty hand, leaving tear-streaks on his eyes. "Aye, I do," he answered._

_Jack's eyes glistened, but Will was sure they weren't from tears. "I loved her, Will, my lad," he confessed with a smile. "I truly did. She was the only woman I ever really loved." His smile faded. "And they killed her, William. People like you and your lovely Elizabeth killed my Anamaria."_

_"Jack, you know that's not true," Will whispered. "You know I'd never do something like that, not to you, or to Anamaria…"_

_Jack suddenly lashed out with his sword and landed a blow on the side of Will's face, slicing the perfect, slightly tanned skin on his high-set cheek. Will stumbled backwards in shock, placing his hand instinctively over the wound. The crimson liquid slowly leaked through the gaps between each of his fingers, drizzling in slow-moving trails down his hand until they pitter-pattered upon the dusty floor that was the blacksmith shop Will now owned._

_"Now, Will," Jack said, his face suddenly devoid of any emotion as Will stared at him in horror. He didn't expect him to actually hurt him, not Jack Sparrow. "If I knew people like you wouldn't dare do such a thing to me as Commodore Norrington did, would I have done that just now?"_

_Will grimaced and withdrew his hand from his cheek, leaving a long, streaky red line running across his face and dripping down to his shoulder, where it stopped to stain the crisp white fabric that had not yet been tarnished with the hours of work Will usually endured._

_"No, Jack," he answered softly. "I suppose you wouldn't have."_

_"One last thing, Will," Jack said quietly. "Do you think I'm mad, my boy?"_

_Will's chest heaved with fearful breath as he took his time to truly consider. Finally he licked his parched lips and looked back into Jack's eyes. "Yes, Jack," he answered truthfully. "You've gone mad, my friend."_

_Jack shrugged. "When you lose everything, Will," he said softly. "Then you'll go mad, too."_

_Will blinked. "I suppose I shall," he agreed in a near-whisper._

_"That's a good lad," Jack said, suddenly equal in his voice volume with Will. He clicked the safety off of his pistol and pushed some of his dreaded hair back into his bandana. "Now be a dear and turn around."_

_Will's eyes widened with fear. The brown pools leapt over to the limp form of Elizabeth and the wide-eyed child in her arms with tears streaming down his face. Then Will glanced back at Jack, pleadingly so._

_"Not in front of my son, Jack," he begged. "Please, God, don't let my little boy see this."_

_Jack's brow furled and he stroked his beard thoughtfully, having sheathed his sword and having a free hand. He glanced over at the little boy and frowned._

_"How old is that boy?" he asked doubtfully._

_Will swallowed a growing lump in his throat. "He's just a child, Jack. Please, he's just a little boy. Only five years old, Jack. I don't want him to see."_

_Jack licked his chapped lips, pondering. Then he sighed. "Five years is still so young," he agreed. Then he grinned, a lifeless grin, as if someone was using him as a hand puppet and making him follow moves and orders at command. "Too young to see blood spilt, eh, Will?"_

_Will blinked away tears he was sure were forming in his eyes and beckoned his son over with one hand. The boy cautiously crept out of his mother's arms and dashed to his father, who grasped him tightly in an embrace._

_"Go outside and wait, alright, my boy?" Will said softly, wiping away some tears in his son's eyes. Mimicking his father, the boy did the same and Will laughed a strange little laugh that caught in the back of his throat._

_The boy nodded and started out, but not without staring at Jack first. And Jack could not help but feel that this little child was judging him. It made him writhe in loathing. How dare a mere child judge him? He was judged by no one._

_As soon as the boy left, Will turned around and let his hands drop to his sides. He glanced over his shoulder. "Jack," he said softly._

_The pirate captain cocked his head as he aimed the pistol. "Aye?" he answered, his eyebrows narrowed so that they came to a knot in the center of his forehead._

_Will sighed deeply. "I forgive you," he breathed. "And I shan't remember you this way. I'll remember you the way you were before. When you were great."_

_Jack blinked several times before responding. "The dead are not blessed with memories, Will Turner," he said quietly, and squeezed the trigger._

_When Jack came out, several minutes later, the boy was standing at the door. Jack was astounded at how much he looked like his father. He had the same high cheekbones and the unruly mop of dark brown hair sat upon his hair, almost like a wig. But, ah, yes, he had some of his mother's features, too. Those perfect lips, eternally parted in a little pout, and those eyes: those honey-brown, big eyes._

_When Jack came out, the boy shot up. Tear streaks streamed down his dirty cheeks, but there was no wetness in his eyes now. He wiped his eyes just to make sure before clearing his little throat. "Captain Sparrow," he said slowly._

_Jack looked down and frowned at the little child. "Aye, lad?" he answered without a real tone about his voice._

_The boy took a deep breath and swallowed a lump that Jack watched bob down his throat. "Sir, did you just murder my parents?"_

_Jack's frown deepened at the boy's quick-to-the-point mannerisms. He paused, as if weighing his answers. Moments later he squatted down so that he was nearly at eye-level with the child. "No, lad, I did not," he lied without a speck of conscious to hold him back. "You're father did not want to come out because he wants for you to come with me, lad. Have you heard of the Black Pearl, my boy?"_

_The child frowned doubtfully before rubbing the back of his head, still not sure what to think. "Yes, Sir," he said softly. "My father and mother have oft told me stories of it. And you, of course."_

_A smile tugged at the corner of Jack's lips and he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Would you like to come aboard that ship, lad?"_

_The boy beamed, all his doubts gone. "Yes, Sir," he answered. "I think I'd like that very much."_

_Jack ruffled his hair. "That's a good lad," he praised. "Just like your father. Now, what's your name, my boy?"_

_The child stood taller, on his tiptoes, and his grin shone at Jack. "Venice Turner, Captain," he responded, the eyes of his that were his mother's dancing in the dimming light of mid-afternoon.

* * *

_

"NO!" Jack roared, bolting up in bed, his sweaty hands wrapped around the bed sheets in a death grip. Sweat poured from his face and his deep brown eyes were as big as dinner plates. He frantically looked around at his surroundings, his chest madly rising and falling with stressed breaths. He put his hand to his forehead and shut his eyes as he realized he was aboard the _Pearl_.

It had all been a dream, he realized thankfully.

_But still…_

Jack's eyes popped open once again and he leaped out of bed, not bothering to put on a shirt as he dashed madly out of his room in naught but his trousers. He leaped up the stairs three at a time, his feet thudding heavily each time he landed. Jack finally reached the deck and looked up at the crow's nest.

"Venice!" he roared. "Get down NOW!"

The teenager peered over the side of the nest and then slid down a rope until he softly padded to the deck, standing in front of his captain. "Yes, Sir?" he answered, an obedient response. Jack quickly gripped his shoulders and searched his face.

Dreadfully, he found what he was looking for:

Honey-brown eyes.

"Oh, gods," Jack whispered, his eyes trailing over the rest of Venice's face. The curly brown hair, the high cheekbones, the pouty lips…everything was there.

Venice blinked at his captain quizzically. "Captain…?" he inquired quietly.

Jack snapped back into reality and released the boy's shoulders. He suddenly realized that the younger man was already taller than him. Just as Will had been…

"Venice, I need for you to answer me a question," Jack said, his breathing quick and heavy. Venice looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

"Er…all right, Captain," he answered suspiciously.

"Who were your parents, lad?" Jack said quickly.

Venice's face immediately darkened and his eyes grew cold. How dare the captain bring something like that up. "Sir, why would you ask such a thing?" Venice growled dangerously.

"Answer the bloody question," Jack screamed, drawing his pistol and aiming it at Venice's throat. The teenage pirate swallowed and licked his lips.

"William and Elizabeth Turner," Venice answered quietly.

Jack's heart sunk in his chest and time seemed to freeze. He could only hear his own breathing, despite the fact that he saw Venice's lips moving in front of him. He had done it, then. He had killed the Turners.

Jack's Shadow Man cackled at him. _You ignorant fool,_ it hissed. _You were too weak and blind to see…_

Jack felt something rise in his chest, but he couldn't quite identify what is was. Could it be fear? Guilt? Remorse? He certainly couldn't recognize it and analyze it…perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had lost something he had cared for and been conscious of it…

His eyes left Venice's face and burned into the floor. _Oh, Bootstrap_, he prayed to the first William Turner. _Forgive me, my old friend. Please, forgive me for what I've done. I've really made a mess of things this time, eh, Bootstrap? Forgive me, dear old friend, for I knew not what I did._

But oddly enough, Jack got the strange feeling he had known…and had enjoyed it.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **Betcha didn't see that coming. New chappies coming soon, I promise!


	10. Whisper

**Author's Enormous Apologies: **Oh my gosh. I am so flippin' sorry for the delay, everyone. This has been a very difficult chapter to write. Unfortunately, the next one may take up to a week to complete. So sorry for the inconvenience.

**ShallowWaters, **here's your debut! Hope you like how I've set you up as a character. Suggestions are always welcome, from all of you.

**Disclaimer: **I no own.

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Nine - Whisper**

The day that the pirate captain Lyset Andrews of the notorious ship _Harlequin_ walked aboard the _Black Pearl_ thinking that she were about to take it as her own, making the first steps of her dream of captaining a small armada come true while escaping one hell of a bounty, she made a mistake. Not merely in underestimating the captain and crew, but in not taking into account the events that had occurred before her arrival.

One could not blame her for thinking so lightly. After all, how could she have recognized that she was stepping in during the aftermath of tragedy?

And a tragedy it had been, indeed. Oh, mournful day, it had been a tragedy indeed.

* * *

Venice became vaguely aware that morning of someone shaking him awake.

He made an odd noise, like a muffled grunt, only longer than a grunt has any right to be. How dare someone awake him?

Venice was always awake before four o' clock in the morning, and so this intruder must be waking him at an extraordinarily unreasonable hour of the morning.

It wasn't as if Venice had been particularly enjoying his short sleep. He had dreamed, something he hadn't done since he was a child. But, he groggily realized, it wasn't a dream.

It had been a nightmare.

God, what a nightmare.

It was a viewing of the murder of his parents, but he wasn't himself. He had been Captain Jack Sparrow himself, murdering the Turners in an insane rage. And, try as he might, he could not stop himself.

Damn Jack for bringing the thought of his parents into his mind.

At the mere thought of actually being Jack, Venice shuddered awake, rolling over in bed so that his bare chest peeped out from behind his scratchy bed linens.

The scar of a bullet hole glared angrily from his left shoulder, just a few inches above his heart. It looked like a misshapen spider bulging with pregnancy, and it was a shade of pale pink, contrasting with his otherwise tan skin.

Venice propped himself on his elbows, blinking the sands of sleep from his honey-brown eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw Mariana leaning over him, her brow wrinkled in a deep expression of worry.

Venice made a little yelp and jumped backwards, a barrage of thoughts streaming through his mind. None of them were very good. He sputtered out the most predominate and fearful one:

"Did I sleep with you?"

Mariana rolled her eyes in disgust and grabbed his wrist, dragging him out of bed. He hastily buttoned his pants with one hand as Mariana urgently dragged him out of his room and down the hall, ignoring his feeble questioning.

The clouds of groggy waking began to clear in Venice's head as he quickly realized where they were going. "The captain's quarters?" he whispered.

He instantly planted his feet firmly of the ground, causing Mariana to falter and stumble backwards a bit. She turned angrily, her unkempt black hair whipping into her face as her dark eyes burned with anger. Venice took a deep breath.

"Look, I know you don't like me much, Mariana," Venice said softly, and she placed her hands on her hips urgently. "But you are Baby's girl, so…you have to let me know what the bloody hell is going on. I mean, I don't expect you to talk or anything…oh, dear, that came out wrong, I'm sorry…"

Mariana stomped her foot angrily and mouthed two words very clearly: "It's Baby."

Even Venice understood that. He padded forward suddenly, taking Mariana by surprise. His steps were long and deliberate as he made his way down the hall, his heart thudding in his chest, threatening to break through his ribcage.

What could be so urgent that she would wake him so early could he be dead or dying what was Jack doing oh gods…Thousands of thoughts littered themselves carelessly about Venice's mind, not a single one of them relatively coherent.

Venice found himself in front of Jack's bedroom door. He grasped the knob to the captain's quarters and turned it slowly, cautiously. His heart seemed to stop, but it was certainly no kinder than the god awful frantic beating that had actually caused his chest to moan in pain.

Venice realized he was terrified of what he might find. As he had every right to be. For what lay inside the cabin was beyond his imagination, and it left him stupefied.

Baby sat in Jack's mahogany chair, his fair hair disheveled and dirty. His blue eyes were wide, like that of a caged animal's. In his mouth was a pistol.

Venice's eyes traveled up the pistol. The safety was clicked off, and the hand that grasped the weapon was caked with dirt and, Venice realized for the first time, traces of blood. A tattoo shone from the forearm, but it seemed to have lost a great deal of its majesty. A scarred chest with two bullet holes connected to the arm, and Venice gazed upon the infuriated face of his captain.

The teenager felt a presence behind him and peered sharply over his shoulder. Mariana's eyes were wide with fear and her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. It never registered with Venice that the reason her lip quivered so was because the girl was trying desperately to keep from sobbing.

Jack looked at Venice inquisitively, his own eyes burning into the boy's. "Well?" Jack said dangerously, turning out so that his pistol was still in Baby's mouth, but his body was facing Venice and the rigid Mariana.

Venice blinked.

"What do you think of all this, lad?" Jack asked softly, calmly, as if this were but a daily routine. "I'm about to kill Baby here. What do you think of that, eh?"

Venice blinked again, the shock taking complete hold of him. He felt hopeless. He commanded his legs to move. They laughed at him, blatantly refusing his simple request.

"Speak up, lad," Jack barked, his eyes momentarily blazing with fury.

Venice blinked again. "Why?" he forced himself to whisper pitifully. Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why?" he repeated mockingly. "A damn good question, my boy. But to answer that question, I shall need to borrow the lovely lady behind you."

Venice felt Mariana tense up behind him and he stuck his arm out instinctively, as if to protect her. Jack cocked his eyebrow even higher and then his expression flashed to screaming fury. He lashed one hand out and grabbed Baby's messy blonde ponytail, yanking it upward and making the man with the gun in his mouth wince.

"I could kill him now, Mr. Turner," Jack declared conversationally.

"Jack, please," Venice sputtered, forcing the words to his lips, which were thin with confusion.

"Jack, please," the pirate captain mimicked mockingly. "Give me the lady, Venice."

Still Venice held his arm outstretched. He didn't know why he did so. He made no conscious effort to do the thing; it just happened. And though he willed his arm to go down, it joined his legs in laughter of disobedience.

Suddenly, Mariana stirred behind him. She touched his forearm, as his mocking limbs suddenly responded to her touch. His arm snapped back down to his side and he looked at her. She wasn't a great deal older than him; only two years his senior.

But there was something inside her that made her appear much, much older. The burdens she carried had wiped away any childish tendencies she had ever possessed. She was beautiful, yes, but old inside. The whole situation made him feel very inferior, indeed.

She walked past him, very slowly, very gracefully, her loose white gown hiding her dirty toes as it swept across the floor, stirring up dust and grime at her feet. Mariana's head was held high, but she never made eye-contact with Jack himself. She kept her gaze fixed upon Baby. His eyes, in return, were locked in hers, wide with worry. His expression pleaded with her to turn round and close the door behind her. But Mariana would have none of it. She stood in front of Jack, a full head shorter than he was.

Somehow…she appeared far more diminutive than she was.

Jack roughly grabbed her chin with his free hand and yanked her face so that her eyes now met his. Her expression was blank. Jack had learned that she did this whenever she was around him: she put on what his Shadow Man called her "Mask."

Jack hated the Mask.

"Now, Venice," Jack said, his speech slightly slurred with habit. "You cannot remember this, for you were not aboard our lovely ship when it happened. But Baby here," he shook the pistol in Baby's mouth for emphasis. "He was. Does this lovely lady remind you of anyone, Baby?"

He jerked the weapon out of Baby's mouth and the young pirate moved his jaw around to get the feeling back. God only knew how long that pistol had been there.

"Yes," Baby finally answered, knowing not to disobey Jack in his present state.

"And who does she remind you of, lad?"

Baby looked at Mariana, who was still locked in Jack's gaze. "She looks like Anamaria, Captain," he sighed quietly.

Jack blinked and then nodded. "Aye, that is right," he said. "The only woman I ever loved, you know," he continued, now directing his conversation to Venice, who still stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes clouded over. "They took her away from me. Shot her in the center of the forehead, they did."

He aimed at Baby's to illustrate and the younger pirate flinched.

"Pride of the King's Navy, indeed," he mumbled angrily, his nostrils flaring.

"Jack…" Baby began warily, but the captain quickly interrupted him.

"And now this woman comes in," Jack went on, his voice starting to strain with anger. "The perfect image of my Ana. Haunting me. Tormenting me." He glared at her and shook her head roughly. "Have you a reason for haunting me?" he asked Mariana.

The woman only blinked. She wouldn't have replied even if she could.

"Jack, please…" Baby begged in a voice hardly above a whisper.

Suddenly Jack shoved Mariana backwards. She stumbled and crashed into Jack's bedside table, sending a stinging sensation searing up her spine. Venice started to her, but his captain shot him a deadly glare and the young pirate stopped dead in his tracks, glancing worriedly at Mariana, who was curling into a little ball on the floor. Her eyes were squeezed shut as the sharp pain tingled up and down her back.

Jack whirled on Baby, his eyes ablaze with rage. "Why should you have love when I cannot?" he roared, aiming his pistol once more. "Why should anyone have what I cannot?"

Baby didn't answer. He didn't know what to say.

"I shan't let you torment me any longer," Jack said, his voice shaking with fury. "Not you nor your lady. I won't let you, damn it all…"

Now his hand shook as well, like a man with Palsy. He could feel that unfamiliar, wet, stinging sensation gathering at his deep brown eyes. He dimly recognized them as tears, but he could not for the life of him figure out what they were doing in his eyes. He wanted Baby dead. He needed for Baby to be dead.

And yet his finger would not squeeze the trigger at let the bullet fly freely.

"You and your woman have ruined everything," Jack hissed. "Taken me and torn me down to nothing. Why should you live while my heart has died?"

Still Baby would not speak. What could he say? He knew that Jack was serious…he was really going to kill him…and yet, he thought of no plan to wiggle his way out of it. He could think of nothing to say or to do that would put Jack out of his stupor of insanity.

He was out of luck, ideas, and hope.

"If you are to kill me, Jack," Baby said softly, not quite meeting his captain's gaze, "than I must tell you something."

Jack tried to steady his hand, but it only made the spastic shuddering worsen. "Say what you must, Mr. Fischer," he whispered dangerously, trying desperately to blink the hot, stinging tears out of his eyes.

Baby nodded briskly, casting a glance at Mariana, who was still curled into a ball on the ground. He then glanced at Venice, who stood paralyzed in the doorway. His younger comrade's eyes pleaded with him to find a way out, but Baby's firmly insisted no.

"I have always thought that you were once a great man, Jack," Baby admitted carefully. "But all has since turned to ash and blown away in the sea breeze."

Jack's lips tugged at the corners. "You're probably right, Baby," he said. He finally steadied his hand and pointed it at the center of Baby's forehead. "Godspeed, lad," he hissed and let the bullet fly.

In the moment in which Baby Fischer was killed, several things happened. The first of these was that Venice Turner dashed up the stairs to the deck to inform the other crewmembers of the murder.

The second thing that occurred was that the captain of the _Harlequin _gave the first order to begin cannon fire on the _Black Pearl_, fairly confident that she would take it as her own.

It was in the moment of Baby's death the Jack's Shadow Man took him over.

It was also in this moment that Mariana, a girl who once called home an abandoned barn on an island just south of Spain, clenched a knife in her hand and drove it with all her hatred and fury into Jack Sparrow's unsuspecting back.

* * *

In the aftermath of the fight for the _Black Pearl_, the notorious ship _Harlequin _sank into the depths of Davy Jones's Locker. The captain, a beautiful, feisty, and all around bothersome young redheaded woman, was taken hostage, along with those of her crew who survived the attack. She fought and kicked and screamed her way to the holding chamber in the lower regions of the _Pearl_, knocking a good deal of the men out.

"How dare you!" she roared as she was jostled about, her hazel eyes blazing with fury. "You think you can take me just like that! No one captures Lyset Andrews and lives to speak of it. I'll kill all of you!"

And in the captain's quarters lay three limp bodies: One belonging to a handsome man with a bullet hole in his forehead; one of a woman obviously knocked out; and the last was a captain that some folks may have recognized as the great Captain Jack Sparrow with a knife in his back and an expression of heartbreak plastered onto his tanned, dirty face.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **Suggestions are always welcome. Sorry again for the immense wait.


	11. The Captain of the Ghost Ship

**Author's Note: **Again, I want to thank you all so very much for your patience and your encouraging reviews. I love the advice you all give me and your positive reinforcement. Many thanks, dudes and dudettes.

**A Bit About the Charater Death...**Yes, I realize I'm killing off characters left and right. It's for the mere fact that in this story Jack had a little line about Hell being just left with nothing. I may make his Hell become his sad reality. Oh, and by the way, for you worrying dears who thought I killed him: fooled you!

**This Thing's Actually Wrapping Up! **Unfortunately, the inevitable must happen: _The Violinist _must end at some point. That point is drawing ever-nearer. Either the next chapter or the one after that will be (most likely) the final segment in this story.

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Ten - The Captain of the Ghost Ship**

It took nearly a week for Jack Sparrow to recover from the deep knife wound in his back. The ship's closest thing to a doctor said it would take a miracle to live, needless to say come out of the injury not paralyzed. Yet Jack did come out of it, just fine and dandy, save for a deadly irritability he now harbored.

Everyone on board knew the Jack had killed Baby Fischer, the closest thing to a first mate aboard the _Pearl_. No one would speak of the tragedy--not even Venice Turner, who had virtually been there for the incident. The boy did, however, tend to keep rather to himself afterwards, muttering in low decibles the crewmen did not attempt to hear. The boy had lost his greatest friend, and they all knew it.

Jack had made sure that Spanish wench Mariana had been safely tucked away in the brig, out of his hair and out of his mind. If he did not have to deal with her, it seemed she was finally dead. For Jack, it seemed this thought would bring him happiness, if not at least the slightest trace of contentment.

But Mariana was not alone in the brig. Another woman stood chained in those bars, not often speaking but sending warning signals with her bright hazel eyes.

This woman was Lyset Andrews, former captain of the pirate ship _Harlequin_. She was a very young woman, in what many considered to be a stolen position of piracy. Only in her twenties, the red-headed thief had already been a captain, a position most pirates never held. Not only that, but she also carried a very large bounty on her head, the origin of which no one quite knew. Needless to say, Lyset would never speak of the whole thing. She felt it gave her the aura of mystery needed to remain captivating.

Being a woman who held in high regard an air of mystery, she was hypnotized by the mute Spanish woman who occupied the cell across from her in the bowels of the Pearl. The dirty, scarred girl had long, raggedy black hair and deep brown eyes that Lyset couldn't help but stare at every now and then.

The girl never uttered a sound, but it always seemed as though there were tears streaming down her face. Lyset couldn't figure it out for the life of her. She knew there had been some sort of commotion before she had arrived upon the _Pearl_, and suspected the origin of the tears was in the chaos beforehand.

It nearly drove her mad that she didn't know.

After what had seemed to be over a week locked in the dark, dank brig, Lyset poked her scarred face through the bars of her cell and whistled to get the Spanish woman's attention.

"Oi," she beckoned.

The girl looked up, her face once again streaked with the pathways tears had made.

"Your name's Mariana, right?" asked Lyset. "I mean, I've heard those grimy blokes who run this hunk of floating wood call you that. It's your name, I gather?"

The girl did nothing for a very long time, and then finally nodded in response.

"I'm Lyset Andrews," said the one of them who could speak in a very pleasant manner.

She paused and the woman called Mariana looked away.

"I know you can't speak," said Lyset for no real apparent reason.

No response came in reward, even in a simple movement.

Lyset did nothing for a while before she looked down at her dirty, burned hands and licked her dry lips. They screamed out for water with which to quench them, but Lysetcould not recall having beengiven drink."They did something to you, didn't they?" she said quietly.

Mariana closed her eyes tightly and hugged her scraped, dirty knees to her chest.

Lyset sighed and lay back, putting her arms over her eyes to block out any light that dared enter the ominous room. "Bloody pirates," she scoffed. "We're not the most pleasant bunch, if you haven't figured it out, dear."

Still Mariana made no attempt to react. Lyset paid it no mind, because she was not one to worry about what others do and say. It was the reason she had become a pirate in the first place--so she could worry about herself and herself only.

"Ruthless," continued Lyset conversationally. "Despicable in every way. We're the rats of society, eh?" She paused to chuckle at the thought. "I heard them say you were a violinist. Is that right, dear?"

Mariana slowly nodded before wringing her hands together to distract herself.

Lyset smiled for a bit, remembering the few times she'd heard a violin played. "Lovely instrument, the violin," she sighed contently. "Wish I could play it. Wish I could play _something, _at the very least. It's quite boring when you don't know a single note on a single instrument. Makes you not nearly as interesting a person."

Mariana sighed in reply; a deep sigh full of thought and consideration, but at the same time a very distant and preoccupied sigh.

Lyset chuckled and shook her head at the Spanish woman's strange antics. Then a very meaningful expression crossed her battered face from which bright hazel eyes shone seriously. "They killed someone important to you, didn't they, Miss Mariana?" she said softly, not looking across to see the reaction that followed.

Mariana quickly looked down and focused on the grimy floor to keep new tears from springing to her big, dark eyes that were already bloodshot from her internal spray of ocean water.

The former pirate captain sighed deeply and folded her arms, which hid in a peasant shirt far too big for one her size, across her chest. She reclined back and got as comfortable as she could before clearing her throat and breaking the silence.

"When I was younger," she said dreamily, "I fell in love with this bloke. He was a right lovely man, and one of the few gentlemen you'll ever find. A real sweetheart, that one." A sad smile crossed her sharp, but attractive features as she went on. "But…it turned out he was a Navy man. He'd been using me so he could arrest me later on."

Mariana pretended to pay no attention to the whole thing, but at this change in Lyset's story, her ears perked up slightly.

"It was horrible, really horrible," Lyset said light-heartedly, as though it meant nothing at all. "I never saw it coming, really. I thought he truly loved me, naïve as it is, It's the only time I've dared let me heart be broken."

Mariana allowed herself to look up slightly and found that Lyset was staring at her through the bars. She did not act surprised, even though she had not seen nor heard any movement from across the way. All she did was blink and return the stare.

"People do some terrible things, Miss Mariana," she said quietly. "That's why you can't ever give your heart up, love. It'll just get torn to pieces."

With that she rolled over and closed her eyes to sleep.

For a very, very long time, Mariana did nothing. And after what seemed an eternity of waiting, she closed her bloodshot eyes as well and drifted off into a turbulent sleep.

* * *

As she was dragged, once again kicking and screaming like bloody murder, down the hall from the brig to the captain's quarters, Lyset Andrews swore to herself that she'd not tell this infamous Jack Sparrow whatever it was he felt he needed to know.

He had summoned for her in the midst of the night, for no apparent reason to speak of. Of course, his fellow crewmen had the common sense not to bother him in his present state of fragile mind. Ever since the murder of Baby Fischer, who the crew all though was the captain's favorite, everyone had been on their toes and ready to run for the hills if Jack Sparrow was in a foul mood.

Lyset's hands were chained together behind her back to prevent any further injury amongst the crew, though it did little good. She thrashed like a mad thing as she was pulled with great effort and tossed into Jack's room.

He sat at his mahogany desk, his hands folded atop it. His feet were bare and dirty, and a yellowing bandage wrapped itself around his tanned, injured torso. The knife wound from Mariana broke out and bled uncontrollably every now and again, and so Jack had been sure to take special care. He sure as hell had no desire to die.

Lyset scrambled to her feet as the door was locked behind her and looked frantically about, as if trying to find some escape route which did not exist for her to use. When no escape plan came to her she whirled furiously about, her long red hair in a thick braid whipping about and catching her on the cheek. Her hazel eyes flared and met with Jack's surprisingly cold brown ones.

"Miss Andrews," Jack said in a very serious manner. "How wonderful of you to grace our presence in our humble abode."

If one had known Jack before this point, however, one would have said to himself, "This man is not Jack Sparrow." Indeed, the Jack Sparrow once known and adored was long dead and gone, along with a broken heart. And now he was replaced by a man who looked like him, talked like him, moved like him--but it was by all means not the same Captain Jack Sparrow.

Lyset took special care to spit at his feet in response. "If it's bounty you're after, Sparrow, it'll do you no good," she snarled menacingly. "I'd hang myself before I gave you a sweet glance at what I'm worth in gold."

Jack raised an eyebrow cautiously. "Whatever you're worth doesn't interest me, Miss Andrews," he said calmly. "I'm more concerned with the fact that you wanted to take my ship."

Lyset kept her glare steady and as mean as she could make it. "At the time it seemed to be a good idea," she said levelly.

"Apparently it wasn't," Jack said, rocking back slightly in his wooden, dusty chair. Lyset took note that it appeared to have blood caked upon its frame and held back a shudder. "I don't really like to dwell on what can't be changed, Miss Andrews," Jack continued lazily, drawing a small knife from a pocket in his pants. He casually began to dig the dirt out from under his fingernails with it as he spoke. "What the real question now is this: whatever am I to do with you?"

Lyset snorted in distaste. "You or any of your men touch me and I'll kill you all when you're sleeping," she threatened and Jack blinked as if it were nothing at all.

"I don't believe you're in the position to make demands, Miss Andrews," he said icily, rising from his seat and making his way over to her. He stopped about two feet in front of his opposition and looked her in the eyes coldly. "If I may be so bold, I'd say I actually had the upper hand in this matter."

The red-headed woman's brow furled. "I wouldn't underestimate a pirate, if I was you, _Captain_," she sneered in disgust.

"Then it's a good thing you aren't me, m'lady," said Jack coldly.

Lyset said nothing for a while, because she was unable to make up an intelligent remark in response that would cut him like a blade. She finally tilted up her chin, exposing several scars and burns about her slender throat. No one really knew the origins of the marks, but many suspected quite a few escapes from an angry noose.

"She hates you, you know," said the female pirate coolly.

Jack cocked his head. "I beg your pardon?" he said in monotone.

"The Spanish woman," Lyset explained impatiently. "The violinist. She hates you more than I thought a person could hate another human being…if you dare to call yourself part of the human race."

Jack shrugged, twirling his braids in his beard as he considered. "She's got a right to hate me," he reasoned--a rather odd thing for Jack to do. "Do you expect me to apologize or something of the sort? Because if you do, my dear, you are far more thick than I anticipated."

Lyset growled lowly in the back of her throat as a wild animal does when it is thrown into a cage. "What the hell did you do to that poor girl?" she asked, truly interested. This was a topic that seemed to actually phase her rival captain, and it gave her a sense of pride to know that it was bothering him so.

Jack paid her question no mind. "Miss Andrews, you still have not offered any suggestions as to what you will do in consequence to trying to take the _Pearl_--"

"My god," whispered Lyset harshly, as though she had discovered the way in which the world was going to end. "You killed her lover, didn't you?"

Jack's eyes flared and his hand shot to his pistol. In a mere second it was aimed between her identical twin hazel eyes and his voice made the room seem to tremble. "And what if I did?" he roared angrily. "Is it really any of your business what I do with me own well-earned time?"

Lyset's upper lip curled up into a sneer. "You thoroughly disgust me, Sparrow," she declared, her voice dripping with loathing. "How dare you? How dare you break some poor woman's heart?"

"And how dare she break mine!" screamed Jack, his gaze never leaving hers as it ignited with fury and blazed on like an inferno. She almost wanted to look away, but resisted the urge to do so.

"How can one break something that's not even there, Sparrow?" hissed Lyset angrily. "You say that woman broke your heart…but you really don't have one, do you?"

Jack's hand trembled with rage uncontrollably, and yet once again he found he could not bring himself to pull that goddamned bloody trigger.

_For god's sakes, Jack_, his Shadow Man shouted somewhere in the depths of his mind. _She means bloody nothing! Will you just kill this stupid wench and we can move on!_

And yet the pirate did not pull the trigger.

"Why don't you do it?" asked Lyset, rather calmly and coolly. She had dodged and faced Death many times before, and thus being held at gunpoint didn't really bother her anymore. "Why can't you just shoot me? Right between the eyes, too--a bloody good chance you've got."

Jack tried desperately to steady his thrashing hand while his Shadow Man still screamed in the chasm of his deep, troubled mind.

_Shoot her._

"Why should a human life matter to you?" scoffed Lyset Andrews.

_Shoot her._

"It never has before, has it?"

_SHOOT HER!_

"_Shut UP_!" Jack screamed and threw his pistol to the ground.

Lyset was taken rather by surprise and jumped back, losing her balance and falling hard on her scarred back where whip-marks danced evilly. Jack, meanwhile, whirled around so that he was staring out his window into the deep black ofthe earliestmorning.

"Why do I suddenly care?" he hissed softly. "Is that your question, Miss Andrews?"

Lyset blinked and hoisted herself to her feet carefully, her hands still chained behind her back. She suspected several of the bones in one hand were broken and had been for months, but the stubborn pirate had never taken the time to have it treated.

"Aye," she whispered finally. "That was my question, Sparrow."

Jack's eyes glazed over and he took in a deep breath. "I do not," he said simply.

For a moment, nothing moved, and nothing happened. The entire universe seemed to stand still, expectant and hopeful.

"Then…" Lyset began.

"I don't care for you at all, Miss Andrews," said Jack, suddenly sharp and loud once more. He turned about to face her, his figure suddenly seeming to loom over hers. "But…I have cared for human life at some point."

A smile flickered momentarily at his lips at the thought of his lovely Anamaria. He regained his cold composure extremely quickly, though, and glared at the red-headed woman who stood before him. She seemed now very small and meek, and he no longer felt intimidated in the slightest.

"The next time you cross me, my dear," he threatened, stooping down to pick up his pistol, "I may not be so humane in my actions."

Lyset sneered at him in distaste. "I would expect nothing less," she growled mockingly before several men burst through the doors and grabbed her, hauling her now less rebellious form back into the dank depths of the musty brig. Her hazel eyes shone with deep thought as she was tossed back into the cell, once again under Mariana's merciless gaze.

Inside his cabin, Jack pondered his actions.

He had not done it.

He hadn't killed her.

"Perhaps…I am still human," he reasoned with himself in a musing tone.

The Shadow Man barked a laugh somewhere in the infinite chasm of his troubled mind. _You?_ it chortled evilly. _Human? Humans have hearts, Jack, my dear…something you have never possessed._

Jack frowned deeply and glanced down at his chest, as if to find a black hole to be occupying the space his heart should have. Instead he was greeted with dirty skin and old bandages, neither of which comforted him in the slightest. Still, his frown deepened into one of serious consideration.

"If that is so," he mused softly, "then what is this aching in my chest?"

The Shadow Man immediately fell silent and the laughter in Jack's head faded to nothingness. _Go to sleep, Jack,_ the Shadow Man urged.

Jack obediently nodded and trudged over to his sunken-in bed. "Sleep," he repeated mindlessly before dropping into the sheets and curling up into a ball.

_That's a good lad, my Jack._

* * *

**Closing Notes: **What's this? I might make it a happy ending! OMFG! When did this happen!

Any hopeful thoughts this chapter may have given you were completely unintentional, but may be taken into consideration.


	12. A Note To Readers

This is just a quick note about the hiatus of this story. 

This will continue for another week, perhaps. I'm trying to finish it all up and then publish it all at once, so you're all not left waiting in suspense. It's been tough getting these last chapters done, due to circumstances beyond my control. I hope you'll love the end of this when it arrives.

My deepest apologies for keeping you all waiting. I appreciate your patience.

-Spike

P.S.: Keep on checking for updates!


	13. Red Roses

**Author's Note: **Oh...my god. I finally finished it. I know it's been several months in the making, but I finally got off my sorry ass and wrote this chapter. This is the final installment in **The Violinist. **I know...so sad. I hope it meets (even exceeds) expectations.

* * *

**THE VIOLINIST**

**Chapter Eleven - Red Roses**

Lyset Andrews was, by no means, a completely shallow person.

She held certain things in high regard: treasure, life, alcohol, ranking, honor, kindness, nobility, humanity. To her, these were things that were necessary for human existence. She felt the possession of these characteristics separated the low lives and the true upper-classmen in society.

And then there was one thing she did not see any value in: loyalty.

It wasn't that she didn't like the aspect of loyalty so much as the fact that she didn't see how it could ever function properly in real life. One cannot remain loyal for all of ones life, especially in the occupation of piracy. You have to lie, cheat, steal, and lie some more. Being loyal, in Lyset's eyes, never helped anyone get any farther in life.

Now, as she was lead to the plank by several very cautious members of the _Black Pearl_, she very much suspected she was right in that assumption.

Jack stood precariously upon the _Pearl's_ rail, a deep frown crudely distorting his handsome face as he watched the spectacle. In the depths of the dark night the moon before, Jack had decided that this stupid woman was ruining what little chance he had of pursuing a life. Well, the Shadow Man had chosen, really. But for the most part, Jack was the Shadow Man, and so it seemed as though he were making his own decisions.

He had decided this on the evening he summoned the violinist.

* * *

She had been dragged into his quarters, half-unconscious, and thrown to the floor. Her white dress was now yellowing and torn all around the bottom. Dirt clung to her skin like a disease, and her face was sallow and pale. She hadn't been eating the food that was given to her, and so all of her bones seemed to jut out from her skin, making her form look frighteningly skeletal.

Jack had never seen anything sadder than that sight, really.

Such a beautiful woman had become such a disaster. Somehow, it pained him slightly in his heart to see her in the condition she was in, but he quickly pushed it away. She didn't deserve his sympathy, not by a long shot.

His eyes found hers from across the room. Mariana's had faded to a dull brown, just as Jack's had. Any life and sparkle that had been in them was now gone, lost to the depths of Davy Jones' locker. It amused him a little that she was becoming more and more like him as the days dragged on.

Jack pursed his lips before speaking. "The other night," said the pirate captain with a few wild hand gestures, "I was trying rather desperately to understand why I'm so obsessed with you, my dearest Mariana."

Mariana's eyes didn't leave his, but they did not react to the statement.

"And try as I might, I couldn't do it," Jack continued. "I just couldn't figure it out. I hate you, my dear, I truly do. You've brought nothing but blood and tears and turmoil with you on this bloody ship. You leave a trail of death in your path--yes, it's your fault all these deaths have come to be, my dear. And, yes, I do blame you for this insanity I've fallen into. I am absolutely sure you caused it. There is not a single doubt in this insane mind."

He pointed to his head to illustrate.

Still Mariana said nothing.

"And even though I hate you so," continued Jack, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "--and I do hate you, you can be sure--I still have kept you alive for all these months. My god…it's nearly been a year, hasn't it, my dear?"

Mariana slowly nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The dull stare did not create an angry energy as it once had. There was no enough passion and fire to ever generate such a glare ever again.

"You are a mystery to me, Miss Mariana," said Jack, partially musing to himself. "And I believe you are one of those confounded mysteries that goes unsolved."

He wrung his hands together, his knuckles cracking sickeningly loud. Mariana didn't react to any of his actions, even as he stood from his chair and strode purposefully over to her. That sight would bring a scoundrel to tremble, but this small Spanish woman shook it off as though it were nothing.

Jack fell to his knees in front of her, grabbed her hands roughly, and placed them on either side of his face. Her eyes widened slightly and she briefly tugged at the grip, but to no avail. Jack sighed deeply, as though the violinist's reluctant touch eased some deep, burning pain that he carried with him throughout his sorry life.

"You remind me so much of my wonderful Anamaria," he told her quietly. "You could be her sister, you know? That's how much of a likeness I see between you two."

Mariana tried to yank her hands away, but Jack was much stronger than she was and she was weak from lack of food, and so her hands stayed where they were.

"Sometimes," whispered Jack, "I remember what it was like when I was younger. I was happy back then, Mariana. Drunk, to be sure, buthappy most of the times. I was…free."

He slowly took his hands from hers, but she did not pull away. Her touch stayed there and Jack sighed in relief. The pirate wrapped her frail form in his arms, burying his face into her thick black hair. It didn't smell of the must in the brig; more like the scent of autumn. Jack let the smell wash over him like water pouring from a waterfall.

"My god, you're beautiful," he sighed.

Mariana closed her eyes slightly and wrapped her arms around his neck. She didn't draw away, because she finally understood why it was Jack had become so cold and so distant over all these years. He had been left alone and unloved, and his heart and soul had deteriorated into oblivion.

"I think at last…we have an understanding for each other," said Jack, pulling away from the embrace.

The faintest trace of a smile was playing at his lips and the sight of it nearly brought Mariana to tears. She nodded slowly, smiling back. Jack's face regained his serious expression and he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

It all happened in unison: Venice Turner went to check up on Lyset Andrews to find that she was halfway through escaping at the exact same time Jack plunged a knife into Mariana's gut, and somewhere around the Rio Madrid an old man whose daughter had been kidnapped by two of the nicest pirates imaginable keeled over and died.

Mariana's eyes went wide and her eyebrows narrowed and pain. She made no sound as she looked down at her injury. A crimson stain was quickly spreading about her yellow dress, and Jack's hand drew away from the knife's hilt as though he had been burned. Mariana looked at him in shock and horror.

"_Why_?" her expression screamed.

Jack scrambled away from her as she collapsed onto the ground, tears streaming down her beautiful face. "I'm so sorry, Mariana," he whispered, bringing his shaking hands to the sides of his skull as he tugged on his dirty hair. "I had no choice. You were keeping me from being free."

_Well done, Jack_, the Shadow Man cackled triumphantly.

Mariana stared at him for several moments more before her body stopped convulsing on the ground. Her mouth was open in a wide "O" of horror, much as Anamaria's had been upon her death. The violinist's eyes stared blankly at him full of shock at the betrayl. Jack stared at her for what seemed like hours before closing his eyes tightly.

"I've done what you asked," he muttered to the Shadow Man. "Now please…let me go. Let me be free once more."

_Oh, Jack_, said the Shadow Man. _You shall be free._

And with that the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow of the infamous _Black Pearl_ ceased to be, and something dark and new took over his body. Something far more dreadful than any monster of the imagination.

A murderer.

* * *

Lyset no longer made any attempt to kick and make a fuss, because she felt there was no point or purpose to it. They were going to toss her overboard. And, of course, she probably would die, but there was a good chance that she could swim to the shore nearest to her.

"Miss Andrews," said Jack loudly, his face relatively free of expression aside from the deep frown across his lips.

The woman looked up at him coldly, her thick red hair now wet and matted to her skull due to the sea spray spritzing onto her. "Aye, Sparrow?" said Lyset icily, bending her elbows to make sure she still had feeling in her arms. Her hands were tied all too tightly in front of her and she felt that her circulation was being cut off.

Jack paused before answering and then smirked. "See you in hell," he sneered.

With a snap of his fingers the woman was overboard, thrashing about in the salty ocean.

It would later be discovered that she cut her bonds on a rock at the bottom of the sea and she swam to the nearest shore, several miles away. Later on she would recruit herself a new crew of all female pirates and commandeer one of the Navy's most pristine and well-thought-of ships. Lyset Andrews would rename it the _Vixen _and would go on to become one of the world's most notorious pirates.

But that is for another day and another time.

Jack snorted in distaste at the sight of the woman slowly sinking in the relatively calm water and strode down to the wheel. Venice was there, waiting for him, his hands grasped tightly to the wheel. He had the air of an abused dog about him as he gulped down his fears and spoke to his captain.

"Where to, Jack?" he asked meekly.

Jack didn't answer for the longest time as he stared off onto the horizon. Then, with an evil smirk, he pushed Venice away and took over the post, turning the wheel a few clicks east.

"Captain?" Venice tried again.

Jack didn't even bother to look at the boy as he continued to steer off. "Hell, boy," he answered and the _Black Pearl_ continued its journey to oblivion.

* * *

**Closing Notes: **Woohoo. It's over. Yeah, I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you've enjoyed _The Violinist. _Thanks so much. 


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